


one with me

by bartonbones



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Force-Sensitive Jyn, OR RATHER: "we were burning okay until THIS happened", Slow Burn, Soul Bond, au ish thing with elements stolen from 'a darker shade of magic', bad medical decisions, bad understanding of The Lore, bc how else are you going to write fic for them lmao, dark side stuff...ish, enemies to friends to lovers to enemies to lovers again, kind of? it's complicated, plot holes the size of tar pits, will add more tags as things happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2018-09-15 03:37:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9216875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bartonbones/pseuds/bartonbones
Summary: “What have you done?” said Chirrut, the moment Cassian woke. Chirrut put his hand on Jyn’s shoulder—his arm was shaking, but Jyn hardly noticed. “Jyn—what have you done?”They all survive Scarif—some with less use of the Dark Side than others. OR: the weird soul-bond-esque AU no one asked for, but you're all getting.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay kids...this is complicated. i don't want to explain too much at the risk of spoilers, but if you've read ADOSM by VE Schwab, it's THAT sort of soul bond. please note that i've never seen the original trilogy/prequels (but probably will have to to write this eventually lol) or read the novel, or...seen anything but the new movies and the music video to weird al's star wars parody song. i'm going to mess up a LOT of lore, and i'm stretching the force like hell to make it do what i want. i've tried to make it as canon-compliant as possible, but it is...not easy. i hope you like it !!

They make it onto the ship with moments to spare.

 

They make it onto the ship with moments to spare, with the plans transmitted, battered and terribly bruised, but they  _ make it onto the ship _ , after being almost certain that the were as good as dead—Jyn had barely made her peace with it before they realized that they still had  _ time _ , that Bodhi was ready to go and they could  _ get out _ as long as they could make it there in time. 

 

Jyn pulled Cassian in to the ship, him limping behind her. There had an eerie feeling of defeat, walking to the ship—not necessarily their own, but although Jyn tried to position her shoulder to block Cassian from seeing the worst of it, there were still dead rebel bodies among the chaos, there was still the chance that they might not make it, there was still the fact that it being over was so unbelievable that Jyn’s mind, ever the realist, refused to believe it.

 

There was still the reality of all that they had lost—but they didn’t have to lose themselves, too.

 

So they’d walked. Ran, shuffled. 

 

Cassian had made a full-hearted but ill-advised attempt to convince her to leave him behind instead of drag him behind, which Jyn tactfully refused with decidedly untactful language. They’d made it onto the ship with moments to spare, with an unbelieving, terrified laugh on their lips, holding each other’s arms carefully as the sights and sound of Scarif were blocked by the door behind them.

 

Cassian inclined his head to look around the ship. Bodhi was at the controls—he leaned back for only half a second to grin at them before taking off in a rush.

 

“Cassian!” said Bodhi, pressing buttons and staring intently out to assure the most possible escape. “Jyn!” 

 

“Hello, Bodhi!” said Cassian.

 

“We’re safe,” said Jyn. “Right?”

 

“We  _ did _ it,” said Bodhi. They turned their heads to hear him, but did not let go of each other.

 

He was just as breathless—Jyn supposed he thought that he was going to die too, so really, it was a relief for all of them just to be here.

 

Cassian’s breath was ragged, excited, and exhausted.

 

“You heard from them? They got the plans? It’s all alright?” 

 

“Yeah, they—” Bodhi was still shaking his head in the middle of a laugh. “They said they got them. They told me, they—we did it. I have no clue how we pulled this off.” 

 

“Wait—” said Jyn. She had paid enough attention to Bodhi to know that they’d done it—which she was already sure that they had and wouldn’t have been able to handle the idea that they hadn’t—but also paid enough attention to the ship to realize a few missing faces. “Where are Baze and Chirrut?” 

 

“Oh—alive!” said Bodhi. Jyn swore in relief. “Sorry, I should have said. They’re below deck, Baze got a little too roughed up for Chirrut’s liking. They’re fine. They’re safe. They’re going to be happy that you’re both not-dead too.” 

 

“Thank force,” said Cassian. “We did it, then.”

 

Jyn smirked up at Cassian. She still had her hands on his arms, and he still leaned on her, half-braced on her left shoulder. “And you told me not to drag you along.”

 

“You were going to leave him  _ behind _ ?” said Bodhi, astonished.

 

Bodhi was very new to bucking authority and snorting in its face when it was hideously, laughably wrong, which meant that the idea that Jyn had not followed Captain Cassian Andor’s orders was not the first thought that came to Bodhi’s mind. 

 

“I was  _ not _ ,” said Jyn. “I said he  _ told me to _ . I didn’t say that I had ever intended to  _ listen _ .” 

 

The arm that Cassian was not bracing on Jyn raised in defeat-surrender. 

 

“You’re forgiven for not listening to me this one— _ one _ time.”

 

“So we’re all here?” said Bodhi. He sounded optimistic, relieved, joyful.

 

Cassian and Jyn shared exactly one look. And somehow, because of how suddenly, achingly close they both were, and how well they seemed to know each other for not knowing anything at all, they both knew what it meant: whether or not to bring up K-2. 

 

K-2 had been destroyed while they were getting the plans. It was so fast at the time that they’d barely realized it, and Jyn would never admit she missed him, but neither wanted to take away the joy and relief on Bodhi’s proud face, so neither said anything for a long moment, which only served to make Bodhi more anxious.

 

“Guys?” he said.

 

“Yes,” said Jyn, finally making the choice to lie. 

 

If he remembered, then he remembered. It was going to be no worse with her lying to him now than anything else.

 

“Fly us home,” said Cassian.

 

Home.

 

Cassian had not been lying, Jyn thought, when he said that this was home. When he said that they were going to stick around. He had nothing to gain—she already trusted him, as much as she trusted anyone, so he didn’t have to lie about that. She was already going to Scarif—so he didn’t have to convince her to do that, either. 

 

He’d just said it.

 

He’d just  _ meant _ it.

 

Home.

 

They had been so busy at the beginning, so sure they were going to die by the end that Jyn hadn’t considered returning, and although Mothma had been on her mind, ever-so-briefly, wondering if she might look at her like a hero, if someone would—she hadn’t counted on it.

 

“Home,” repeated Jyn, carefully and quietly, just to taste the sound of it. She was tired and hurt, covered in sweat and blood and tears. The idea of home sounded miraculous, impossible—and yet here she was, promised it, flying towards it at impossible speeds. 

 

She was distracted from this perilous train of thought by Cassian groaning, almost silently. He flinched, too,  _ almost _ imperceptibly, but Jyn percepted it—there was no place like the battlefield to become so in-tune with someone else.

 

She furrowed her eyebrows and looked him over. She didn’t expect him to be unscathed—she’d had to drag him here. Except for that, for quite a few long moments, she had thought he was dead, so anything below that had seemed miraculous and trivial, until now.

 

He was favoring his right side so extremely Jyn realized that she was absolutely the only reason he was upright at all.

 

“Cassian?” said Jyn. He bit his tongue and didn’t say anything for a long moment, just breathed through his nose in long, measured breaths. “Should you lie down?” 

 

She was already gently pushing him towards a seat before he’d even responded. 

 

“What’s wrong?” said Bodhi, glancing quickly away from the controls to look back at them. 

 

“Ah—” 

 

Cassian gritted his teeth before he could say anything else, closing his eyes and wincing. His hand went to his side, holding it carefully, and he bent his head down in pain. This made Jyn panic immediately—he seemed, generally, the sort of person to die before they showed such sincere displays of pain. 

 

“Cassian?” said Jyn, breath rattling against her teeth. 

 

“I— _ ah _ ,” said Cassian.

 

This sound was absolutely worse than the last—Jyn swore she could almost feel his pain just by proxy, just because he hand was still around his waist and he was still leaning in to her and it was such an awfully uninhibited sound, the sort of sound people made just before—the sort of sound people made when something was catastrophically wrong. 

 

“What’s wrong?” she said, a bit frantic. “Cassian?” 

 

“Jyn,” said Cassian. He catches her desperate gaze for only a moment, his eyes worried. It is the worry that worries her, because he looks like he’s worried for her. 

 

“Tell me what’s  _ wrong _ ,” she grinds out, suddenly furious. Don’t look at  _ my _ hurts when you are in so much pain, she thinks, don’t look so concerned. 

 

“Is he all right?” said Bodhi. 

 

_ No _ , thought Jyn, looking at his face, and all of the sudden she was so mind-numbingly terrified she didn’t know what to do. Cassian’s face was pale and pained—he tried to grapple for control over his features, but then he would gasp and loses it again. 

 

She’s seen people dying.

 

She knows what it looks like.

 

She has known what it looks like since she was nine, and then in ever increasing amounts.

 

_ “Cassian,” _ said Jyn. “Tell  _ me _ what’s  _ wrong. _ I swear to God if you don’t tell me what’s wrong I’m going to—I don’t know.” 

 

She doesn’t really have a viable threat, which is a terrifying place to be in for her. 

 

_ “I _ don’t—know,” said Cassian. “There—were a l-lot of things. Jyn.” 

 

There were. But Jyn thought that if he was going to die from any of them, he should have done it when she expected him to. 

 

“Do we have any bacta? Bodhi, go get—”

 

“I’m  _ driving,” _ said Bodhi. “I can’t get anything, you have to—you have—is he going to be alright?”

 

Jyn did not answer—she didn’t even know what was  _ wrong _ , and apparently neither did Cassian. She looked him over, makes the tears in his clothing even worse just to try and find anything that was obviously wrong—he was bruised and beaten, there were broken bones and wounds that looked ugly as all living hell, but nothing that screamed out at her.

 

“What hurts?” she said, although the answer was undoubtedly everything. “What hurts the most?”

 

Then Cassian made another truly awful noise—something... _ wet, _ and hurt and wretched, and then he tried to gasp but it didn’t work—he clung, suddenly, to Jyn’s shirt. 

 

“I can’t—” 

 

But his words were barely understandable. They were gasped and tortured and terrifyingly breathless—he couldn’t breathe. That is what Jyn suddenly understood, as his body jerked and he clung so tightly to her, his knuckles going white and face going whiter.

 

“Cassian?” said Jyn.

 

“I—” 

 

“What do I do?” said Jyn. Her face felt hot, panic set in with an impact on her that Jyn only associated with actual, physical injury. “I don’t know what to do—Bodhi—” 

 

“I don’t know—maybe—Baze! Chirrut!” 

 

He was yelling so loudly, and Cassian was barely making a sound, jerking and grasping. 

 

“It’s alright,” said Jyn, still frantic. All the noise muddled together so much that Jyn couldn’t tell if she was screaming or whispering. “We’re going to get—Baze,  _ please!”  _

 

“Jyn—”

 

It was barely her name. It was a choked-out, wretched sound that only somewhat resembled it, but Jyn could pick it out, he’d said her name. The way Cassian said her name was home, and now she was losing it. 

 

“Please,” said Jyn. Tears were falling down her cheeks, she could tell, but they had come so _ close. _ “You said—I wasn’t going to leave you back there, I wasn’t going to leave you behind. Don’t you dare—don’t—” 

 

Except that Cassian’s eyes were already closed, and his breath—which had not been there for several moments before, but he’d been trying to retrieve, was completely finished. His hand wasn’t clutched around her shirt—it had fallen loosely and sprawling on to his bruised chest.

 

Distantly, as if she were inside glass, she could hear the distorted sounds and see through her tears the warped images of Baze and Chirrut, ever by each other’s side, and Chirrut bending down to look over Cassian.  

 

“Don’t,” said Jyn.

 

“You don’t get to—”

 

She was gripping Cassian’s shirt so tight that it made her fingers ache. She bent over him and sobbed—she felt like someone had dropped something far too heavy on top of her, and although she tried to lift it, it toppled and crushed regardless. She pulled him close—away from Chirrut, away from Baze, away from the world and close to her chest. 

 

He had said that he wasn’t going to leave. He had said this was home. She hadn’t left him, he was supposed to do the same in return—it went  _ both ways, _ it was supposed to be both of them, together. She remembered Chirrut’s prayer— _ I am one with the force, and the force is with me _ .

 

Jyn believed in the force. She didn’t care about it, she didn’t pray to it. She hoped it was somewhere, if not helping, at least not laughing at them. Her mother believed in it—she’d given her the necklace, just so that she’d remember to as well. Chirrut certainly did. 

 

I am one with the force, and the force is with me.  _ I promised to be with him.  _

 

I am one with the force, and the force is with me. _ He’s supposed to be with me.  _

 

I am one with the force, and the force is with me.

 

It all gets lost together—the force, him, me, everything all at once—it’s a catastrophic mess, all Jyn can think clearly is that they are supposed to be  _ together _ , that they are tied together. I’m supposed to be with him, he’s supposed to be with me— _ he is one with me _ .

 

She thought of the moment that he fell from the databank—how for one, blisteringly long moment, she imagined her fingers slipping too, she could almost tear them away with the grief of it all just to follow him. 

 

_ I am with him, he is with me. _

 

She thought of the moment that he had said  _ home _ , and meant it. She thought of the moment that she saw home inside him—how very, very possible it was to make it there, and how scared but sure that she was that she wanted to.

 

_ He is one with me _ .

 

She sobs once more, desperate and painful and—and  _ furious.  _ Jyn is so  _ angry _ at the universe for taking this too, that she thinks it again and slams her fist down on the ground so that  _ something _ reverberates louder than her own shaking breath. 

 

She is so, so furious, it is blinding—they are not allowed to take him too. They are not  _ allowed _ . 

 

_ He _ is one with  _ me _ .

 

And then, Cassian gasped.

 

It was a soul-shattering noise. It was terrible and loud and messy, it was  _ alive _ and warm again, it was his eyes opening along with Jyn’s, at the same time, it was their hands touching, incidentally but purposefully, in a way that felt cataclysmic.

 

It was terrifying.

  
“What have you done?” said Chirrut, the moment Cassian woke. Chirrut put his hand on Jyn’s shoulder—his arm was shaking, but Jyn hardly noticed. “Jyn—what have you  _ done? _ ” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things should hopefully be a little more interesting now! now that we've gotten the necessary death-not-death out of the way. As always, hope you all enjoy and please tell me what you think!! :)

 

Cassian slept all the way back to the base. 

 

It was pure terror to watch his eyes close, but Chirrut says he needed it, because a collapsed lung would not be a very easy thing to heal from—he pretended that he believed her that it was just a coincidence that he survived. 

 

Jyn can tell that he still wants to talk about it, though. She can see it in the way his eyes—unseeing, but perceptive in other ways—narrow at her, and how he treats her like she is full of static electricity, and it’s clear he barely even wants her to touch Cassian, although she does anyway, to check his breathing every time hers catches on fear again.

 

It’s always as steady and safe as she prays that it will be. 

 

When she gets tired of Chirrut staring at her like she is an enigma, she cracks. She rubs her eyes and breaths carefully in and tries not to think about how much her body aches or how tired she is, and she cracks, because maybe if she speaks to him she will leave him alone, which is all she really wants at this point.

 

“I don’t know what happened,” said Jyn. “You can stop staring at me like I do. I don’t.” 

 

“You’re right,” said Chirrut. Baze raises an eyebrow—he is there too, because of course he is. It makes the small on-ship room that they’re all in, where Cassian is sleeping, feel all the more terribly small and cramped, and yet, strangely, not at all private or intimate. “You don’t.” 

 

This is a terribly frustrating thing for Jyn to hear. It offers nothing, it asks for nothing, it’s the end of the conversation that  _ she _ didn’t even want to have. It’s infuriating, and she can’t even storm out angrily because storming out would mean leaving Cassian and although she  _ could _ do that she just...doesn’t want to. 

 

“Right, well,” said Jyn. “If you figure it out, let me know.” 

 

“You should rest too,” said Chirrut.

 

“I will do if you’ll just leave me alone so that I  _ can _ .” 

 

It’s not untrue. As much as she’d like to stay awake and monitor Cassian’s well-being for the next few hours, she doesn’t really want to be awake, either. Something about...whatever had happened, had exhausted her, and that was on top of the pre-existing condition of having just fought for the Death Star plans and amazingly, won. 

 

Baze pushed on Chirrut’s arm, and then said something quiet and imperceptible. Jyn narrowed her eyes, feeling like it was about her.

 

And then, miraculously, Chirrut stood up. 

 

“All right then,” said Chirrut. He started to leave, which Jyn did not expect—she is so accustomed to being babysat by people who don’t trust her, that something in this feels like a trick.

 

“All right,” she said, cautiously. But then she thought of something that could be at best inconvenient and at worst, catastrophic. 

 

“Wait,” she said, standing up quickly and squaring her shoulders. They were her friends, by nature of what happened, but she had never feared intimidating her friends before, if she could ever be described as actually possessing them. “Are you going to tell everyone?” 

 

Chirrut could not see. Jyn had to remind herself of this constantly, because he looked as if he did-- _ looked _ at her, and expressed his face exactly as if he could. And then there was the whole being-incessantly-good-at-battle thing on top of that.  

So for a moment he inclined her head and didn’t look at her, and Jyn narrowed her eyes back as if that mattered to someone who couldn’t see her do it. 

 

“It’s on a need to know basis,” said Chirrut. 

 

Jyn supposed that was as good as she was going to get. But her eyes flickered, briefly, to Cassian lying asleep next to them, and then she looked back at Baze and Chirrut and tipped her chin sharply.

 

“He doesn’t need to know,” she said.

 

She couldn’t tell exactly  _ why _ she didn’t want Cassian to know about what had happened, except that she didn’t want him to know it. She could pretend she was being magnanimous and just didn’t want to embarrass him, or make him feel like he owed her anything.

 

But there was also something frightening about the fact she had felt like she’d needed him so much, that it had been enough for the Force or whatever it was to bring him back. There was something vulnerable and terrifying about it that she wasn’t ready to face with him, as well as the fact that Chirrut looked at her like there might be something else about what happened that needed sorting first. 

 

“And when he does,” she said, steady and sure, trying to leave no room for argument and no possible tell of why she was saying this, “I will tell him. Understood?” 

 

Chirrut waited one moment for Jyn to think of all the ways she could physically stop him from telling anybody--she could think of three, and all of them would be inappropriate to do to someone who followed you on a rogue death mission just out of trust and belief in you, so she dropped all of those and just waited for him to agree or make everything twenty times more complicated.

 

And then, blessedly, he nodded.  

 

“Alright. Call if there’s trouble,” said Chirrut. “Again.”

 

Jyn’s sigh of relief is quiet, but grateful.

 

When they were gone, Jyn set her hands on her knees, flattened them out and pressed her fingertips into the soft flesh between her knee caps. 

 

She took a few deep, calming breaths that did not at all work.

 

Because she wasn’t lying, at what she said to Chirrut. She had absolutely no idea what had happened--she knew that Cassian had died, she knew that he was no longer dead, she knew that something in her chest went funny and something about touching him made no sense anymore. 

 

It felt...charged. 

 

It felt like when she touched him, she could not distinguish between the warmth in his body or the warmth in her own. It was frightening, and weird--she wasn’t force-sensitive. She couldn’t have been. Someone would have noticed by now, and besides, all the Jedi had been gone for years. She would have  _ known _ if she was--somehow, she would have known. 

 

Mum would have known. 

 

_ Krennic _ would have known, although she does not know how--just at the end of every confusing, frightening thing, Krennic sits like the bogeyman, watching and waiting in his impeccable white uniform. It is an old and lasting impression left on Jyn, and one that had not gotten any better after today.

 

She had to flatten her hands again. Just thinking about Krennic had tensed her entire body, made her fingers curl into themselves and press half-moons on her palms. 

 

She didn’t have the Force.

 

And neither did  _ Chirrut, _ so he had no right to look at her like that, no right to judge what had happened or purse his lips like she’d done anything wrong. All she’d done was ask for something and gotten it. She didn’t will or force it to be there any more than she could have forced Chirrut to leave the room--Jyn had wanted it it, but Chirrut had done it of his own free will.

 

Jyn decided this was the truth. She didn’t have the force. There was going to be nothing to worry about when Cassian woke up. There was going to be nothing more to deal with, there was going to be nothing new or odd--the Force had given her a favor, that was all. She’d believed in it for twenty-two years, it had  _ owed _ her this, and she didn’t give a damn if that wasn’t how the Force actually worked. 

 

She moved her chair closer to Cassian’s bed--she had been too cautious, before, with Baze and Chirrut in the room staring at her so oddly and making her feel like an insect pinned to a wall, to be unusually close to his bed. But now there was no one to comment on it, so she moved it closer and tried to make it feel comfortable, and ignored the fact that something in her chest buzzed, new, loud, and bright enough to cast shadows.

 

* * *

 

 

Chirrut Îmwe did not have the Force, but he knew it when he saw it. 

 

He spent his whole life knowing it intimately. He did not know everything about it, or all that it was capable of. He didn’t know why it was in some but not others, but these are all mysteries that one can accept, can even learn to respect, eventually.

 

The Force is a nature of the universe, unpredictable and wild. When it was good, it was wonderful, it was  _ holy _ , but when it was bad--there was no questioning the terror and horror it could bring. That in particular is what concerned Chirrut--because there was no  _ grey area _ in the Force. 

 

And no one had brought to  _ anyone _ back to life using the Light Side. 

 

It was unnatural, out of order, unholy. It was power beyond what men were meant to have, it wasn’t their power that they harnessed so it fed off them and assured that the universe remained steady and equal in the only way it could: however many lives you could raise, it would destroy just as many, in equal measure, until even if you started with a good heart and a love, it would soon turn to be in equal measure the opposite.  And then there was the fact that Jyn was not even  _ trained _ . That there was no reason for her to be able to so much as bend a blade of grass, let alone bring someone back to  _ life _ . 

 

And if she did.

 

If she was truly force-sensitive. If she was force-sensitive and had brought Cassian back to life simply by  _ wanting _ it, by being angry enough to achieve it...it did not bode exactly well. The sort of raw power and control that it took to do things of much less aplomb could be dangerous in Jyn’s hands, let alone this. 

 

Not that he didn’t trust Jyn.

 

Jyn seemed like a very good person underneath a lot of bad things. He sensed this about her--not because of the force, or because of his training, but because he was a person, albeit more perceptive than some, and he saw that in her actions.

 

It just didn’t seem  _ possible _ that she could’ve done what she so clearly did.

 

“Are you jealous of her?” said Baze, amused. 

 

Chirrut frowned deeply. 

 

“I am...concerned,” he said. He nodded at the end of his sentence, assured. Jealous would imply that he thought that what had happened was a good thing.

 

“About?” 

 

“Jyn shouldn’t have done what she did,” said Chirrut. 

 

Baze half-shrugged. He was not quite indifferent--he knew as well as Chirrut did that the Force didn’t just  _ bring people back to life _ \--or it would have done it all the time, and it would not be so shocking. Baze also knew that if it did, it would not be the Light Side that did it.

 

“And I’m concerned about the ramifications,” said Chirrut.

 

“Wouldn’t you have done the same?” said Baze. “If you could?”

 

Chirrut pressed his lips together. An unfair question with an unfair answer, because he had trained his whole life to protect the Force, to understand it, to respect it even when it felt unfair, even in front of his own death, and he wanted to think he’d be able to do that even in the face of someone else’s. 

 

“It would be an act of the Sith to do what she did,” said Chirrut, because that was the true fact of it, even if he was having trouble coming to terms with the answer of Baze’s previous question, and he wanted to remind himself of what he really believed. “And worse, because I’d  _ know _ that’s what I was doing. Jyn had no idea.” 

 

“Mm,” hummed Baze, in a sort of placating, amused way. It was one of his worse intonations. “Do you  _ know _ that it’s going to be a problem? Maybe it was just a favor. She believed in the Force every bit as much as we did--you saw her necklace.” 

 

“I  _ do _ know,” said Chirrut, with just the slightest hint of defensiveness to his voice. “I can sense it. The Force doesn’t work that way.”  

 

“Then what are you going to do about it?” 

 

Chirrut tilted his head.

  
“Now,  _ that,” _ said Chirrut, pausing hopelessly in the middle of the sentence. Jyn was something unheard of--Jyn was possibly the worst person on the team to have used any single ounce of the Dark Side, and now she had used what appeared to be a great amount of it.  “I don’t know.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyy all!! guess who watched a new hope!! i did!! who knew such a simple woman who wanted a jyn/cassian soul bond au would be knee-deep in star wars lore just to try and make an excuse for why it happened. anyway, thank you guys so much for reading and tell me what you think!! comments really do keep me posting although at this rate i do not think God himself could stop me from thinking about this au. anyway, i promise jyn and cassian will speak to each other at some point.

Cassian has always had terrible dreams.

 

He knows that dreams are how the mind processes problems, figures out solutions. He thinks that his mind does most of that in wakefulness—figures out battle plans and what contact needs what to talk and who needs to be coddled and who needs to have a blaster pointed at their chest, that maybe by the time he falls asleep, it is spent.

 

Instead of dreaming up some miracle solution to a difficult problem, he dreams about the missions he’d been on in lurid ways. His own blaster shots ring in a dreamlike symphony, reverberate back into his ears and his bones until he wakes up gasping.

 

A sleepless soldier is a dead one, but sleep and war do not go exactly hand in hand.

 

Cassian is used to fighting for sleep, but on the ship, after they had retrieved the plans, it comes without him so much as raising a fist—in fact, even as he actively fights, for once, _against_ it.

 

At first his dreams are vague, and even sometimes comforting—sometimes he’s in a quiet place, somewhere soft and where the colors aren’t jarringly vivid but aren’t muted, either. They’re good dreams—they’re the best dreams Cassian has had since he was awfully, awfully young. He even dreams about Fest, his home planet, in a rare way. In a way that’s not aching or bitter, but is somehow favorable even though in wakefulness he admits that it is a cold and undesirable planet.

 

In this dream it is something more beautiful than even he remembers it to be.

 

But dreams are dreams, and they are confusing and disjointed. One minute Cassian is safe in an old home he doesn’t usually think about, in another he is blindingly afraid and stressed as all living hell—hiding around corners and snaking in the gutters and lying to people’s faces and keeping a straight one himself. The next he is building K2-SO in a quiet little hanger with tools and grease on his cheek, laughing stunned when he exhibits free will and even gratitude. And then the next, after that, he is staring at a body that lies on the ground, motionless, and it connects with his own hand, holding his blaster, in such a physical, tangible, terrible way that they may as well be connected by shackles.

 

It is oddly like his own life is flashing behind his eyes, some things fonder than they really were and some things harsher than he thought they had been at the time.

 

But then someone else’s life flashes, too.

 

Jyn is clutching helplessly at the edges of the Databank this time, instead of himself. Her hair is blown across her face, stuck to her forehead with sweat, and she cries out for his help—her voice is never less her own, she is never helpless, but she needs it, now—she needs his help, except that he can’t get to her in time—he does not know why, except that his hands don’t move and he doesn’t get there and that, in the dream, is all that matters, and she falls at the same time his own breath does, lost from his own lungs.

 

At the same time that he is watching her fall, he is next to her body. It fell with a sickening sound that doesn’t stop playing. The breathlessness from before is not gone, but now it is added to with a terrible disgust—not at the gore, but of the wrongness of her body not moving, her chest not rising, her lips not scowling or sometimes holding a cautious, small almost-smile.

 

It is so terrible. It is so terrible, and it does not go away, and then he can feel that shackle on his wrist, tied to her broken body, and it itches and burns and it is all so, so terrible, and he can’t back away from it, not her body, not her blood, not the _your fault your fault_ that beats as steady as his own heart, not the grief and fear that feels impossibly true.

 

It beat like that, until he woke with a start and terrible gasp and an awful pain in his torso, sharp and urgent.

As Cassian took in the pain, he tried to take in his surroundings too—the last that he remembered, he was in the data bank and—no. The last he _remembered_ , he was in a ship headed back to Yavin 4. The last he remembered, Jyn was bruised but completely alive, and their mission was complete.

 

The last he remembered, his ribs hurt this same way, and he’d thought he was going to die—clearly he had not, although his chest burned regardless, like it was intent on finishing the job it had not gotten to do before. Jyn must’ve been awfully quick with that bacta, thought Cassian, as he pressed something with the flat of his palm that would call a Medical Droid over, but maybe not quick enough.

 

“How can I be of assistance?” said the Medical Droid.

 

“My ribs,” said Cassian. He half-laughed, holding his torso. “They don’t feel great.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said theDroid, and—Cassian knew that intonation. It was the way that Medical Droids spoke, almost sarcastic, when people tried to get out of missions with stubbed toes and sore throats.

 

He immediately narrowed his eyes.

 

“They hurt on the ship, as well, so—”

 

Droids didn’t really have facial expressions, and medical bots were built to have an ever-constant look of calm and gentle matronly care, so Cassian couldn’t tell what the bot’s scan was showing just by looking at its face. He knew that it hurt—stung like a broken rib, of which he’d had many before, but the Droid shook its head instead of going to grab a bacta patch.

 

“My scan shows no injury,” it said.

 

“Alright,” said Cassian, through gritted teeth. He held himself carefully as he moved to sit up on the bed, trying not to wince, but also to show that the pain was urgent, in a way that showed not weakness but bitterness that the Droid didn’t realize he was being truthful and not trying to get out of being cleared for field work.  “Want to try that again?”

 

The Droid did not say anything for a long moment.

 

“I know what a broken bone _feels_ like,” said Cassian, sharply.

 

He knew it very well, which is why he was certain that it was. It hurt to breathe, check. It hurt when he moved, check. It hurt, check. The Droid stared at him moments longer before it seemed almost as if had gone through a micro-restart and nodded.

 

“I will fetch a bacta patch for the pain,” it said, which ought to have been enough except it wasn’t _for your surely broken bone_ , it was for the _pain you are feeling_ , regardless of if it was broken or not.

 

Maybe it was a point of pride, that he’d never faked an injury to get out of anything before, like some of his old companions had. Or maybe he was just tired and in pain, which was an acceptable answer as well—he granted himself a bit of grump if that was what it took to get a bacta patch for a broken rib.

 

As the Droid applied it, Cassian made a mental note to tell someone that it was malfunctioning, and then thought, briefly, of his dream, before he shoved that away with all of the rest of them. He looked up at the Droid and hoped it would function enough to answer his question.

 

“Do you know what happened to the rest of the Rogue One team? Are their injuries stable?”

 

There was no particular reason why they wouldn’t be—they’d all been pretty stable on the ship, except he’d been unconscious for most of the ride, and anything could happen.

 

“Approximately twenty-four of the soldiers deployed to Scarif are deceased. Six are injured but stable, three have not yet reported to the medbay for—”

Cassian shook his head. Not that he didn’t care about anyone else who had been there—he did, and he was sure that when everything was done and though he’d look through the list and recognize names that would make his heart ache. But for now, only a few people were on his mind in particular.

 

“Sorry, no, just—” Cassian cleared his throat, thinking of how to phrase it. “What are the conditions of Bodhi Rook, Chirrut Imwe, Blaze Malibus, and Jyn Erso?”

 

“Bodhi Rook has been reported having no serious injuries,” said the Droid. Cassian nodded, relieved to hear that. The kid hadn’t deserved anything more.

 

“Chirrut Imwe and Blaze Malibus are being treated for mild battle injuries,” said the Droid.

 

Cassian nodded again—good.

 

“And Erso?”

 

The Droid shook its head.

 

“Jyn Erso is has not yet reported to the medbay for any injury.”

 

“Oh, for—” Cassian sighed, falling back onto the uncomfortable medbay pillows. He knew for a fact that Jyn had not been miraculously unsathed.  “Any reason why, in particular?

 

“Would you like me to contact Jyn Erso for—”

 

“I’ll do it,” said Cassian, teeth ground together. He started to rise but the Med Droid pushed him down with a careful metal hand.

 

“Sorry?” said Cassian, not sorry at all.

 

“You need bedrest,” said the Droid.

 

“I’m just going to—”

 

Go find Jyn and pull her here by the scruff of her goddamn neck.

 

“I will send a Droid to locate Erso and bring her to the medbay,” said the Droid. “Does that suffice?”

 

_Will you stop being such a nuisance, now?_

 

Cassian scowled.

 

“Fine, just—” he shook his head, waved his hand and layed back down, annoyed and inconvenienced and yes, just a little bit worried. “Tell me when she gets here.”

 

* * *

 

 

As soon as they landed, Cassian was taken to the medbay.

 

Jyn didn’t have _trouble_ letting the Med Droids take him, but her hands did hover in their way for longer than they needed to, and she did bristle and almost stand, feet planted firmly, directly in front of them when they said that she shouldn’t follow, and should report to the medbay for treatment of her own injuries as soon as possible.

 

The thing was that landing felt less like coming home and more like being being caught by the the back of her jacket by some official who had caught her trying to escape, and being unceremoniously dropped back in a prison of some description, which wasn't a  _new_ feeling but it was somewhat disappointing.

 

Except that she hadn’t done anything wrong.

 

And no, she did not expect to come into the hanger to crowds of cheering rebels. And yes, even as she stepped off the ship, intent on following Cassian, someone stopped her to thank her and shake her hand, it didn’t change her feeling—she did not feel victorious. She didn't feel victorious except no one was coming to yell at her, which left her with frightfully little knowledge of what she ought to be  _doing_.

 

Maybe it was because she had never done anything of note for anybody but herself before, that she didn’t know how to feel. Or that even _now_ Chirrut seemed to move cautiously around her, and Baze, by proxy of trusting Chirrut, gave her weary looks and a wide berth. It was not unfriendly, but it was—particularly, gratingly, paternal.

 

It was _I’m not angry, just worried_.

 

It was enough to make her avoid them until they got over themselves understood what she so clearly did—the Force had given her a favor, and repaid her belief with Cassian’s life. It meant nothing else, and she refused to let it.

 

“If you’re just going to stand there staring blankly, would you like to help me unpack the ship?” said Bodhi.

 

Jyn blinked, broken out of her own thoughts, and realized she must have looked like she had fallen asleep where she stood, staring stock-still while Bodhi and some others unpacked the ship and checked it for damage.

 

She shook herself out of it and followed Bodhi to the back of the ship.

 

“Yeah, sure, sorry—” she said, still shaking her head as if that could expel the thoughts like water from her ears.

 

“Are you worried about Cassian?” asked Bodhi, curiously. He, thankfully, did not sound accusatory or like he blamed her for being so.

 

“He’ll be alright, I think,” she said. She hoped. He had not opened his eyes yet—but surely he was just exhausted. She was exhausted herself, if a bit aimless. “Should you be lifting that?”

 

She inclined her head towards Bodhi has he pulled towards himself a heavy box of weaponry off the edge of the ship. Bodhi was slight by nature, although Jyn knew better than to assume someone’s strength by how they looked. She meant it only because Bodhi did not look uninjured, and had winced something awful when she had clapped his shoulder in gratitude for a decently smooth flight and a good fight.

 

Bodhi shrugged.

 

“If you want to carry that box all the way over there, be my guest,” he said.

 

Jyn did not particularly want to carry that box all the way over there, but she didn’t want to see Bodhi dislocate his shoulder, either, so she walked over, wrapped her arms around the box and—

 

She had meant to lift off the ship.

 

What happened in fact was that she wrapped her arms around it, pulled it off the floor of the ship, and the very instant there was no support underneath it her ribs lit afire and she gasped a wretched sound, letting it clatter on the floor and echo across the hanger as she wrapped her arms around her torso and crouched down on her knees to center herself in the shock and pain.

 

Bodhi said some swear in alarm and crouched down next to her.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked, urgently.

 

Jyn nodded.

 

Broken rib—she had one before, she would have one again. It was almost laughably nothing except when you tried to pick up something far heavier than you ought and it sort of made everything go white for a minute. But even then it was just a minute, and after a few seconds of ignoring Bodhi’s blessedly kind but unneeded questions, she stood up.

 

“Do you need me to walk you to medbay?” Bodhi asked. “There’s a medbay, right?”

 

She shook her head, gritted her teeth.

 

“No, it’s alright, it’s just—it’ll be fine, do we have any bacta patches here?”

 

Bodhi shrugged.

 

“I don’t know,” he said, dubiously, “We might have already unpacked them, let me check—Although, I mean, I really think you ought to go to the medbay instead—we were supposed to if we were substantially injured, though I guess you know that.”

 

Jyn sighed.

 

She didn’t really have any particular desire to go to the medbay, but she was also fairly confident that she couldn’t get anything else done without a bacta patch, and she hadn’t thought to steal any from the supply, which really was her own fault. To her credit, though, she did try to run through all possible options before sighing and resigning herself to the trip.

 

At least Cassian would probably be there—they couldn't stop her from visiting him if they were both in the same medbay, she reckoned. She wanted to make sure he was alright. 

 

“Do you actually know the way to the medbay or were you just offering your company?”

 

Bodhi opened his mouth.

 

“I—” he pressed his lips together. “Listen. I’m sure we can figure it out.”

 

Jyn narrowed her eyes.

 

“Do you just _really_ not want to unpack this ship?”

 

“Do you want to lay off?” Then he cringed at his own response, not that Jyn had minded it at all. “Sorry, listen, ’m tired. I don’t really want to carry boxes. I really, really don’t want to lay underneath the stupid ship to see where the leak is and what damage we got. I don’t want to—”

 

Jyn raised a hand, amused but sympathetic.

 

“You can use me as your excuse, then,”  she said, snorting. She had to admit that it did not sound not-exhausting, and if he was _half_ as tired as she was he did not deserve to have to do it. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Force is an odd thing, thought Palpatine, leaning his head back against his throne.

 

Because it is not like scales, that sometime shift from different weight, between light and dark, steady and even or overthrown. And it’s not the air, stagnate until something disturbs it. Instead, it pulsates. Yes, he thought lasciviously, pleased with his own thought: the Force pulsates. It beats like a heart, sometimes calm, and sometimes afraid. It beats like the ocean, moving constantly, gentle laps onto the sand and tsunamis all the same.

 

The Force is always beating, but sometimes it beats as faint as a footstep, and sometimes it beats as loud as a drum, and that is what it does now, beating, yelling, alerting. Palpatine would have to be blind, deaf and mute not to sense this disturbance in the Force: it was altogether cataclysmic.

 

  
Something happened in the Force that had not happened in a very, very long time, but, also: something happened in the Force that had never happened before, and Palpatine now must know who caused it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonjour !!! i promised jyn and cassian would speak, did i not? the problem was getting them to shut up, so sorry for the extra length of this chapter, haha. anyway, has anyone here listened to cassian's playlist? that's all i listened to writing this in hopes that it would help me write him and HOO, BOY, do i have a lot to say about the Amount of love songs on it. it's a lot, yall!!! it's a lot!!!! i hope that i got his character down well, though. please tell me what you think and i hope you enjoy!!

 

The Medical Droids are surprisingly thorough. 

 

Jyn is used to slipping between the cracks--in fact, she is used to  _ ensuring _ it. It’s a careful art, especially when you semi-constantly draw attention to yourself by taking very little from anyone to their face, and learning to grasp all that you can while their backs are turned. People tend to notice that you’re missing more often if their things are missing with you, but it’s the nature of her game. 

 

Or--was the nature of what her game used to be. The focus and drive of her life had changed so quickly that the whiplash from it is going to take...some getting used to.

 

Getting used to how she is getting used to people noticing her, and pushing her towards the medbay, and a droid finding her and Bodhi halfway through them stumbling through the endless maze of halls and saying: It has been brought to the attention of the medical staff that you may need assistance, if you will follow me, please.

 

Jyn couldn’t shake the feeling that eyes on her were, undoubtedly,  _ a bad thing _ , but she followed anyway--Bodhi followed awkwardly for a few moments, twisting at the straps of his goggles and although Jyn wanted to make a joke to make him more comfortable, she wasn’t  _ used _ to trying to make people feel comfortable in a way that wasn’t flat out manipulation, so it ended up quiet and awkward with an occasional wince until he used vague hand gestures and even vaguer words to come up with a reason to go find something else to do.

 

When they got to the medbay, after the droid had led her to a bed and after she had fought with the droid to insist there wasn’t any reason why she couldn’t apply her  _ own _ bacta patch, she leaned back in the uncomfortable bed and thought, for a moment, to rest.

 

“Captain Cassian Andor has requested to be alerted of your presence when you arrived here,” said the Medical Droid, slashing through Jyn’s anyone hope of getting her mind off of things in one swift sentence. “Would that—” 

 

“He’s  _ awake?” _

 

She didn’t know why she sounded so surprised. Cassian had been asleep for coming on nine hours--if he had been asleep any longer, it would be  _ concerning. _

 

“Captain Cassian Andor has been awake for nearly an hour, and has requested to be alerted to your arrival when they found you,” said the Droid, evenly, although droids did not tend to have a particular amount of sass to them--she supposed she was still overcoming the fight and marvel that was K-2SO. “Would that be acceptable?” 

 

Jyn stared at it, pressing her lips together and breathing slightly harshly--from the pain, she told herself. She was breathing harshly from the pain.

 

“I—”

 

She did not know why suddenly, faced with seeing Cassian alive and well and conscious again, she became so uncomfortable. Maybe it was because she knew she was going to have to lie to him. Maybe it was because facing him meant facing, not in the context of war, not under battle-stress and with the dark circles and trauma they had all inherited just hours before, but in a peaceful, if exhausted, state: facing the fact that she cared about him, that for those moments when she thought he was dead, felt barely capable of breathing.

 

Jyn blinked. She swallowed thickly. She nodded. Cassian was not going to be asleep forever--she could not just take what he’d done for her and keep it secretly if she had to face him again. She was going to have to face him. She was going to have to face  _ it _ , and sooner rather than later. 

 

“I will go and inform him,” said the Droid. “Feel better.”

 

It’s just that Jyn is used to hiding her love, her trust, her needs, like a secret. 

 

_ I like to think he’s dead _ , she’d say,  _ it’s easier _ .

 

Which it would have been, if it were true. It wasn’t. Jyn  _ liked _ to think that he was alive, in hiding--that every day he looked out into the stars and remembered her, and if she just looked back in the right spot, directly transverse from him, she could see him gaze out and hear him wish for her. But Saw tells her not to ask about her father, Saw tells her not to tell anyone about her father, Saw tells her that he is almost surely gone and any other thought is not only foolish, but perilous to the heart--and more importantly, the cause. 

 

So she keeps that hope, that love and need, folded down small enough to hide her tears and flinches and fears from Saw and anybody else who tried to look for them. When Saw leaves, too, she has learned his lesson better, so she takes the love that she had, the gratitude and affection, and burns it to keep herself warm enough to survive.

 

And then, there was Cassian. 

 

Or, realistically: there were Cassian, Bodhi, and even, although they looked oddly at her now and she did not know what to make of that, Baze and Churrit. There were the people that she wanted to keep.

 

But in that subcategory, there is another one. There, there was Cassian.

 

She didn’t want to keep Cassian half as much as she felt like she  _ needed _ to. The way that she had pounded her fist and demanded his life back--the way that he mirrored her, showed her, with brutal truth, and his teeth bared, her own faults, the way that he invited her into his home with trust, with faith, with sticking around when things went bad as if that were nothing at all.

 

All of this would be so much easier to keep and feel in the small place in her soul she set aside for it, if Cassian wasn’t  _ awake _ .

 

“Jyn?”

 

Jyn looked up, sharply. Sharper than she intended to, actually--just that she was used to being on the attack, and although Cassian wasn’t trying to fight, all of the tension between them felt eerily close to it, near enough to spark her heart to beat faster.

 

Cassian held up a hand.

 

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

 

Everything about you startles me.

 

“It’s fine. Are you feeling—” Jyn struggled for words different then:  _ less dead than before?  _ “How are you?” 

 

Cassian half-laughed. It was a testament to Cassian as a person how he could laugh without exactly smiling.

 

“Been better,” and then he tilted his head, considering. “But I’ve also been worse. Actually--much worse. How fast did you get that bacta on me? On the ship? I thought—”

 

Jyn doesn’t want to think about what he thought was going to happen, but she also doesn’t want to think about what  _ did _ happen, either. 

 

“Chirrut and Baze came pretty soon after you blinked out on us,” said Jyn. She shrugged. “But, I mean. Maybe you’re just a stubborn son of a bitch.” 

 

That time Cassian laughed  _ and _ smiled--it was a lovely thing. It reminded her of the unbridled joy of seeing each other alive and fighting and almost  _ winning _ back on the bridge in Scarif: Cassian’s smile was inherently victorious, a battle won against everything that tried to beat against him.

 

“Fair enough,” he said. “How’s the rib? Were the Droids treat it alright?” 

 

Jyn eyed him wearily for a second--again, the immediate fear that came with being noticed--but then remembered about the droid and figured it must have told him, or he asked. And she trusted him, she thought, so she didn’t mind that he knew, a fact that the Alliance ought to be grateful for or they might be missing a medical droid by the end of the day.

 

“Been better, been worse,” said Jyn, then she furrowed her eyebrows. “I mean, they didn’t have excellent bedside manner, but they’re droids, so—” 

 

“No, sorry, that’s good, I just—” Cassian shook his head, a bit confused. “I had to beg mine to give me a bacta patch for _my_ broken rib. It didn’t believe me.”

 

Jyn frowned.

 

“It didn’t believe you? Mine believed me fine,” she said. Cassian gave a half-shrug, but he still looked slightly confused, although he dropped it at her follow-up statement. “Actually, they came  _ after _ me. Do they come after everyone like that?”

 

“No, just stupid people who don’t report injuries like they were supposed to,” said Cassian. 

 

Jyn frowned.

 

“I wasn’t—”

 

“Being stupid? Yes, you were. Listen. I’m going to say this exactly once and you’re going to follow it from here on out, understand? You get hurt, you come to the medbay. Don’t be a martyr, and don’t be stupid. You’re of no use to us dead from something treatable.” 

 

Jyn’s frown, which had been deepening a little bit, turned into a scowl immediately at the last sentence. She did not, of course, believe that Cassian had lost in one mission all his dedication to the Alliance--or that he  _ ought _ to, or that her pointless rebelling against any and everything that breathed in this galaxy was right, either, but still--the phrasing made her square her shoulders.

 

“Maybe I’m not thinking about my life in terms of if I’m being  _ useful _ ,” she bit out, staring fearlessly at Cassian.

 

“That’s not what I meant,” said Cassian, evenly.

 

Jyn shrugged, teeth clenched and shoulders tight, and didn’t quite look at him. She didn’t know why she felt so angry, only that she did, the same disquieting anger she had felt perhaps unfairly towards Chirrut and Baze. 

 

“You know, you’re being pretty thankless, for someone whose suicide mission I just went on,” said Cassian. 

 

You’re being quite thankless for someone who’s life I just saved, thought Jyn, and she almost said it before her brain caught up with her tongue, and her heart caught up with her brain, and she realized, begrudgingly, that Cassian wasn’t being untruthful.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said, carefully. She was not at all used to apology, or even to gratitude--she could count on one hand the amount of people she’d thanked in the past few years of her life, and she thought of every moment she’d ever felt of gratitude towards Saw with only the most vitriolic of emotions. “You’re right.” 

 

“About coming to the medbay?”

 

“About me being thankless,” she said. She was surprised how much it ground at her to get the words that she  _ meant _ out of her own mouth. “Thank you.” 

 

Cassian smiled again, although this time different, not quite as mirthful or humored, or quite as large. But still, it meant something, and still, she felt his smile in her own heart, and still it meant something more infinite than anything she’d ever felt before in her life. 

 

“You’re welcome,” he said, and then he flattened his palms on his knees and sighed, in a,  _ well _ , now that  _ that’s _ over sort of fashion. “Hey, if you’re feeling better, do you want to help me rebuild K2? The mechanics can be fickle, and your hands are smaller.” 

* * *

 

 

In all honestly, Cassian had expected Jyn to say no to the offer. Jyn had not initially held much love for K-2, but the surprise on her face was almost,  _ almost _ near excitement when he explained about the backups of K-2 that he’d saved and the spare parts and scrapped, pieced together KX Series that he had hidden in one of the engineering hangers. 

 

“At first I just grabbed spare parts from whenever I managed to find them, for repairs,” said Cassian, as they walked to hanger, “But then--I mean, I’d collected quite a lot of it. It’s awfully mismatched, and I don’t know if it’ll work, but I thought--hey. At least we had one solider who we might be able to rebuild.” 

 

Jyn snorted. 

 

It was to her credit, thought Cassian, and a testament to how much she’d learned, that she didn’t make a sardonic comment about a recyclable soldier being the Alliance's wet dream, or something along that line. She seemed interested, in fact--not just happy that K2 could be rebuilt, but in the details of how Cassian planned to rebuild him, even though she knew very little about droid mechanics. 

 

Cassian was getting by mainly on just hoping that it would actually work as he’d planned for, and that the file of K-2 hadn’t been corrupted, and that all of the pieces fit and didn’t glitch and kill them all. Besides, working on droids after particularly stressful missions had become something of a tradition for him--it made sense, it was consistent, it was therapeutic in a sense. He didn’t usually have someone with him, but for some reason leaving Jyn alone had felt wrong.

 

And not like before, when he couldn’t trust her on her own. Just--that he would rather she was with him.

 

“The  _ hope _ is,” said Cassian, pulling out the box and half-assembled KX Series, and noting with pleasure the surprised and impressed look on Jyn’s face, “That all the pieces work together and it doesn’t see one as malignant and glitch and kill us all before I can instal K2 on it.” 

 

Jyn opened her mouth, then shut it again.

 

“That’s only a  _ hope _ ?” 

 

Cassian shrugged.

 

“Hope is about all I’ve got,” he said. He was somewhat sure that, since  _ most _ of the pieces were from real KX Series droids, and that he would be quick with installing K2, they would have little to no trouble. But only somewhat, which was good enough for him. And--he had to try. K2 was his oldest and most long lasting friend, and he’d given his life for them. It would be rude not to risk a little bit of their own, or at least waste a substantial amount of time, to get him back. 

 

“Could it genuinely kill everyone?” 

 

Cassian grimaced.

 

“Well,” he said. “It would certainly cause trouble.” 

 

Just, in his mind, not more than it would be worth it to have K2 back.

 

Jyn eyed him wearily for a second--Cassian could do nothing but shrug, slightly, present himself in the light that this was who he was, and Jyn could take it or leave it--and then she nodded. Cassian hadn’t needed her approval, or even asked for it, but he was now acutely aware he had it. 

 

Cassian motioned for Jyn to hand him the head, which she did, and then he used the tools he’d sat next to him to carefully open it. The head wasn’t in the best condition--it was, admittedly, a bit busted, and would just about ruin anymore incognito missions for K2, but it seemed like it would suffice.

 

“Does Mon Mothma know about this?”

 

Cassian raised an eyebrow.

 

“You’re not the only one who does stuff they’re not exactly meant to,” said Cassian. 

 

“Fair enough,” said Jyn. “When did you learn to work with droids?” 

 

Cassian shrugged, a bit jagged. He had to be careful not to give Jyn more attention than the wiring inside the head--they’d become a bit loose, and he’d not had a chance to fix them before he needed it, so he had to do it now. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought her along after all, he thought, more amused than actually thinking that his own thought was true.

 

“I had a knack for it,” he said. “Besides. Most of us try to learn something other than fighting. In case--well.” 

 

In case they became unable to serve on further missions, at least they could still serve the rebellion even if they got a leg or an arm blown off. But Cassian still felt like acting as a bit of a marketer of the Alliance for Jyn, even if she didn’t really have anywhere else to go, so he stumbled around the words, even if they were true. And anyway, Jyn didn’t ask for further clarification.

 

“You must be pretty good at it,” said Jyn. “If they let you reprogram imperial droids just to be your friend.”

 

Cassian snorted.

 

“At least I’ve  _ made _ friends, Jyn,” he said, teasingly, smiling. And then he twisted a wire just exactly in the wrong direction, his right index finger just in the wrong place near to the spark that it made and swore colorfully, dropping the helmet and still managing to cringe at the sound of something now so precious hitting the floor, even if it’d just burnt him.

 

Jyn jumped nearly out of her own skin at the sound and spark.

 

“What happened?” asked Jyn, surprised. She held her hand right hand tightly in her left, which to Cassian seemed like an odd gesture of shock, and was the first thing he picked up on after looking up from inspecting his own injury.

 

“ _ Shit _ \--nothing. I hope nothing, just burned the hell out of my finger,” said Cassian, picking the head back up and inspecting it carefully. “And I hope I didn’t mess everything up inside.” 

 

“I hope not too,” said Jyn, her voice a bit pinched. She was still holding her hand, which made Cassian furrow his eyebrows at her, staring at her cautiously. When she caught his gaze, her facial expressions stuttered, but only for an odd moment.

 

“You dropped it on my finger,” she said. She swallowed. “The head. You dropped it on my hand.” 

 

Cassian felt almost like she was lying, but had no proof of it--besides. He had only known Jyn a short amount of time--he supposed he wasn’t the best person to decide what was odd behavior from her and what was normal. 

 

“It’s fine, Cassian,” said Jyn, clearly misreading his doubt for guilt. Or maybe she was pretending to misread it--or maybe Cassian was the one misreading it all, and he needed to calm down. He had dropped the head, and it had landed near enough to her hand. “Is the head alright?” 

 

Cassian blinked, and then looked down inside. The wires that had sparked seemed, at least, fixable, which was a relief. And it wasn’t any more tangled than before, so really he wasn’t any worse off except that now his finger smarted and stung and Jyn held her hand, too. 

 

“It looks okay,” said Cassian. “It’s as fixable as it was ever going to be, I guess.” 

 

Jyn sighed.

 

“That’s good, then,” she said.

 

“Very,” said Cassian. He picked back up his tools and went back for the wiring, this time being twice as careful. But it still seemed a shame to have Jyn here and not talk to her. “You settling in alright?” 

 

“I’ve been here like, half of a day,” said Jyn.

 

“Alright,” said Cassian. “Have you begun, in the half a day’s time you’ve been here, to settle in somewhat?” 

 

Jyn shrugged.

 

“It’s alright,” she said. “I should--probably talk to someone, eventually, and like--get a room, or something. Or a uniform, or whatever. Do you get paid? Do I need to be on a payroll?” 

 

Cassian snorted.

 

“In theory? Yes. In practice...? I don’t think I’ve ever gotten credits for anything other than to bribe people with,” he said, laughing a little. It wasn’t like anyone joined for the credits, anyway--everyone was aware it was just a bit grassroots. “But you get fed. And you get a small bedroom. Someone will figure that out for you, I’m sure. Or I’ll get it when we’re done with this. It’ll get sorted.” 

 

Jyn nodded.

 

“Should we be doing something right now?” she asked. “Like, I don’t know--figuring out another mission, or something?” 

 

Cassian shrugged.

 

“If they need us they’ll call us,” he said. “In the meantime--here, hand me that? Thanks--enjoy the break.”

 

Jyn nodded, pressing her lips together. Cassian had a certain suspicion that Jyn was not used to breaks--and he wasn’t, either, not to long ones, but half a day was hardly long.   

 

“What about you?” said Jyn. “That was--I mean—with everything--you seem alright.” 

 

“It was a mission,” said Cassian, to put her out of her own misery. He didn’t look quite at her when he said it, though. “It’s not different from any other one.” 

 

Jyn sent him a careful look, one that knew that it had not been an average mission. For her, most certainly not, and for him, if he was honest, not either. He had never been so certain he was going to die, and so certain he was going to die doing the  _ right _ thing, that the hangover effect from being not dead was a bit jarring. 

 

But he had a droid project in his hand, and that was familiar. And a mission ahead, and that was familiar, too. And he had Jyn, who was not entirely familiar but not so frighteningly new as before, so he thought, it’s still good. Life is still good.

 

He looked carefully back at Jyn--if  _ he _ felt oddly about the whole thing, he couldn’t imagine what she was going through.

 

“Listen, Jyn—” he began, with great difficulty--how to sell the idea of help to someone so prideful? He knew  _ how _ to help, but he didn’t know how to offer it, or advertise it. In the middle of clumsy thought meeting his clumsy words, Bodhi ran to them, breathless. 

  
“ _ There _ you both are,” he said, wheezing. “I’ve been looking for you for ages. Mon Mothma wants to see us. All of us. Now.” 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Jyn’s not... _ cagey _ , when it comes to going to the Council.

 

Cassian knew Jyn when she was cagey, when she was looking for exits and stealing his blaster out of his bag, and this wasn’t it. It was just sort of a feral, cautious grimace when Bodhi explains that the Council wants to see them, and her chin tipped steadily and her eyes sharp.

 

It wasn’t uncooperative, but it wasn’t incautious, either--and that was probably fair, thought Cassian, considering it was the very council that had unanimously decided that unknowingly sending her along on a mission that would end in the death of her father was acceptable. It was not an admission of guilt that the memory of it makes something familiar in his chest sting, but it felt like it. 

 

“They’re not going to execute us,” said Cassian, as they walked. His voice was low and although not laughing at her, humored.

 

Jyn said nothing. There was maybe, almost, a half-quirk of a lip that somewhat hinted at a indulgent smirk, but she had little reason to trust the Council, so she continued to walk like she were walking into a firing squad, shoulders squared. Her steps matched Cassian’s stride almost perfectly, although her feet hit the ground with more steady, defensive grit.

 

Jyn’s distrust for the Council was Jyn’s distrust, so although it nagged at Cassian the entire way, he couldn’t really do anything about it--and it was, as it turned out, only half-warranted.

 

Because when Bodhi Rhook, who did not strike Cassian as an excessively literal person, said  _ Mon Mothma _ he did not mean  _ the Council, which is led by Mon Mothma _ , he meant  _ Mon Mothma _ , alone, and waiting for all of them with an even, thoughtless look on her face--the talent of which Cassian almost envied, since his facial features betrayed himself more than he would like to admit.

 

All of the sudden, Cassian was struck with a odd and new sense of unease. 

 

Cassian was rarely called to the Council, and when he did it was for congratulations or some sort of briefing. He was rarely the centre of such direct attention--Mon Mothma, alone, staring at all of them. And he’d never gone so directly against orders before this, and although he believed fully in all of his decisions since, he felt peculiarly uncertain when they might be mirrored back to him.

It was not so much that Mon Mothma could change his mind on the validity of his actions. It was the peculiar betrayal that struck up in his chest when he wondered, in a moment, if Mon Mothma were going to admonish them--that they valued his actions when he followed their orders, told him that he was invaluable, and yet still didn’t trust him to make his own calls.

 

Cassian suddenly felt like he understood Jyn just a little bit more than before.

 

“Rogue One,” said Mon Mothma. 

 

Her stern and steady voice carried only the slightest hints of amusement. 

 

It takes Cassian more than a moment to remember that that had been the title Bodhi had gave them. He half-glanced over to Bodhi, who stood, nervous in a way someone less trained to be aware of other’s emotions might not notice, even if his wide, doe-eyed stare might tip them off. 

 

“You have, between the five of you, committed a myriad of infractions,” she said. Her hands were in front of her, not holding a data pad or a piece of paper that might list them all--Cassian wasn’t sure if you could commit each of them to memory, but maybe Mon Mothma was simply that dedicated. “Stealing a ship. Lying. Disobeying _ direct _ orders, that—” 

 

It was Jyn’s mouth opening that caused her sentence to break away. Cassian had to admire a person who could send an entire room stumbling into silence with just the beginnings of the beginning of a rebuttal. 

 

“ _ Unfair _ orders,” said Jyn. “Un _ just _ orders.” 

 

Her head was tilted just so slightly, and there was a healing scrape underneath her eye that served to make the image of her all the more resolute. It was a stature Cassian adopted, following her lead of defiance, his just more quiet than hers.  She was a good voice piece for them--though she had many flaws, she was to both merit and inconvenience, brutally honest.

Cassian, by nature and by nurture, was honest only in the quietest and most private moments of his life, and rarely to himself. 

 

“Orders,” said Mon Mothma, no longer deterred. “As I was saying. A  _ myriad _ of infractions. So many, in fact, that listing them here would be impractical—” 

 

Jyn opened her mouth again, and Mon Mothma held out her hand. Jyn, although her eyes were narrowed and her jaw was set, let herself be silenced.

 

_ “So _ ,” she said, and this time there  _ was _ a hint of humor in her voice--Cassian could tell by the way it carried to his ears, not so heavy and sharp, but more buoyant and personable. “Instead, let me thank you. All of you. You have, the five of you, given the Rebels an  _ unimaginable _ shot.”

 

Now there was something in her voice Cassian has never heard before, and it made his heart skip a beat--the way that she sounded just a bit like a child, hopeful and oblivious, and not at all unjoyful. There was victory in her voice and she bathed in it, and she casted it out with her hands, although still reigned in close to her sides, open out at all of them for them to enjoy too.

 

For the first time, Cassian felt joyful in their victory. Not tired, beaten and relieved--not happy to just keep breathing and knowing that it wasn’t all for naught, but genuinely, beautifully joyful for the mission they had succeeded, for the  _ hope _ that they had brought to Mon Mothma’s face and to the faces of all of the Rebels on base, and outward even from there.

 

“Thank you,” said Cassian. He had always been a bit egotistical, when it came to praise, he supposed--he didn’t know what to do except bask in it. 

 

Jyn, who Cassian assumed had rarely been praised, by nature of her past, did not seem to know what to do with it. Cassian looked over, relieved and joyful, only to see Jyn still with the same distrustful look as she’d walked in with.

 

Or--no.

The minute Cassian blinked and refocused on Jyn’s face, he could tell it was not the same uncertain look as before. Nor was it the resolute, burning, jaw-set fury when she was defending herself. No, it was something different--something  _ stuttering _ .

 

Cautious, but not defensive. 

 

Uncertain, but not on attack.

 

It would be unfair to Jyn’s intelligence to say that she had, in her life, had so few good things that she had trouble recognizing them when they came, except that is what it felt like to Cassian, and it itched at him to fix it. He wanted to hold her shoulders, turn her to look at him and say to her: this is a  _ good _ thing. It’s a good thing,  _ you’re _ a good thing, it’s  _ good _ . Be good. Be happy, be good and happy for just a minute, because we deserve it.

 

But he couldn’t do that in front of Mon Mothma, so instead he put his fingers, carefully, on Jyn’s arm, just underneath her elbow, wondering if physical contact had ever been enough to press emotions into someone--that if he held her tight enough he could press something good through her skin, enough that she would feel it in her bones. 

 

“There is the matter, however, that only one of you is actually part of the Alliance,” said Mon Mothma. “This might present a problem at the awards ceremony tomorrow.” 

 

Jyn tensed. But Jyn tensed at anything, be it good, bad or indifferent, if it is sudden. 

 

“Lieutenant Bodhi Rook, Lieutenant Chirrit Îmwe, Lieutenant Baze Malibus,  _ Major _ Cassian Andor,” said Mon Mothma--Jyn was tenser still underneath Cassian’s fingers. “And Captain Jyn Erso. If you’ll have us.”

 

Jyn stared at Mon Mothma, her eyes wider than Cassian had ever seen them. 

 

Captain Jyn Erso. 

 

Her lips didn’t mouth it, but her eyes stared like they were reading it--with wonder, with terror, with caution. 

 

“Do you all accept?” 

 

“I don’t think the Empire will have me back if I tried,” said Bodhi, breathless. 

 

“I will accept,” said Baze.

 

“As will I,” said Chirrut. 

 

Jyn swallowed. Mon Mothma blinked. Cassian held her arm ever so slightly tighter. Bodhi’s grin faltered and Chirrut’s eyebrows furrowed and they all waited.

 

“Captain,” said Jyn. 

 

Mon Mothma nodded. 

 

Cassian couldn’t do anything but look down at her, eyebrows slightly furrowed, studying the lines in her face and the grip of her fists. He couldn’t make her accept it, but he had no idea why she wouldn’t--the fact that she was taking so long confused and concerned him.

 

“I will accept,” she said, finally.

 

The room did not erupt with joy, but rather heaved a sigh. Happy, but mostly relieved. Mon Mothma looked the most so--perhaps afraid of what Jyn could do on her own or perhaps she simply knew how deeply Jyn sunk her sharp teeth into whatever she believed, and was grateful she’d chosen this. She dismissed them all after that--told them to rest for the ceremony tomorrow, and again thanked them for their work. 

 

Jyn followed Cassian out, and Bodhi behind him--Baze and Chirrut must have had questions for Mon Mothma, and so stayed behind.

 

“Lieutenant,” said Bodhi, pleased but ever-so-slightly dazed. “That’s a higher rank than I got in the Empire, and I worked there longer.” 

 

Cassian snorted. 

 

“Well I’m glad you’re staying,” said Cassian, although he had not been wrong--he wasn’t sure where else Bodhi would have gone. The Empire would have him killed, and Jedha...was obviously not an option. 

 

“It feels like a dream,” he said, and there was something far away in his voice, something too true, that made Cassian’s eyebrows furrow. He looked over Bodhi carefully after he heard it, eyes traveling steadily and appraisingly. 

 

He looked tired, in more ways than ten.

 

“You should do some of that for real,” said Cassian. He suddenly remembered what he had been like in the prison cell on Jedha, what Chirrut had said about him, the way his face had looked, the way his eyes blinked but did not focus. “Dreaming. Why don’t you find your room and rest?” 

 

“Oh, God, could I?” said Bodhi. “I didn’t know if I had one. I’m so exhausted.” 

 

Again, there was something in his voice, but Cassian let it go--it was not any of his business, and Bodhi seemed happy enough. 

 

“Of course you have a room,” said Cassian. “Ask someone who looks high-up or is holding a datapad, they’ll help you find it. I’d offer to share mine but honestly the rooms are a little more like closets than rooms, so—” 

 

“As long as it has a bed, I’m fine,” said Bodhi, eyes tired, and with that he nodded, did a tired little playful salute, and then went off in search of rest. Cassian nodded, his metaphorical duck in a metaphorical row--humans weren’t quite as predictable as droids, but Cassian admitted they were much more satisfying when they were in his order. 

 

“So,” said Cassian. “ _ Captain.  _ It took me twenty years to get to that. You’ve done it in--what, three days?”  

 

“Don’t sound so usurped,” said Jyn. She reached up to her hair, undoing it briefly before beginning to pull  it back through the tie that held it up. “You’re still a higher rank than I am.” 

 

“Well, I’m glad you don’t sound at all jealous of that,” said Cassian, his head tilted with good-natured humor. 

 

Jyn made a face at him. She looked mainly tired--Cassian had to remember that not all of them slept for nearly a full day because of injury--but not unhappy at her new rank, at her new life. He wouldn’t blame her for being tired, as long as he could have the validation of her being happy.

 

He reached out and touched her face gently, pulling her just-so closer to him. She had not finished putting her hair up, and her arms fell, the motions stilted and aborted so that her hair fell down naturally instead of the bun she’d worn it in for convenience.

 

Jyn gave him mostly a look of warning, her lips pressed together and her head tilted and her eyes just slightly wet--don’t say anything stupid. We don’t have to say every stupid thought that rises up in our chest like wildfire, you can douse that out yourself.

 

His hand fell down to her shoulder, instead. He had no plan of what he was going to say, he just knew he wanted--needed, and  _ wanted _ , to say something. He wasn’t like Jyn as much as she might wish that he was--although the unspoken language was something Cassian understood very well, it wasn’t exactly his native one, his mother tongue--saying nothing felt more like a waste than saying something he might regret, although the learned language of restraint and locked doors and barricades often overrode the impulse. 

 

“Your father would be proud of you, Jyn,” he said.

 

Jyn nodded, blinking fast. 

 

“I know,” she said, although her voice shook. She nodded again. “I know.” 

 

Cassian rubbed her shoulder.

 

“Good,” he said. 

 

“Cassian,” said Jyn. Her voice was all of the sudden almost anxious. “Thank you. Again. For--I don’t know. Everything. I don’t know--I couldn’t have—”

 

She split off her sentence to make a frustrated grunt. Jyn was not adept at finding honest words that were both honest and pretty, and her voice faltered as she tried to say it. Cassian could be quite good at finding words, so he couldn’t relate to the difficulty, but he could sympathise with the furrow in her eyebrows and how she worked her lips, frustrated that they couldn’t just form the right words upfront. 

 

“Jyn, it’s alright—”

 

“No,” said Jyn, suddenly sounding angry at herself. “I mean this. I  _ mean _ this. I—” 

 

“I mean it too,” said Cassian. He put his other hand on her other shoulder so that he was holding both of them, holding her closer to him. “I mean it too. It’s alright. I understand.” 

 

“I mean it,” she said. She let Cassian pull her even still closer, so that she was speaking less to his face and more to his chest and her arms were folded in and her hands brushed against his jacket. “I mean it.”

 

Her voice didn’t exactly break in to a sob as much as it smoothly slid down to it, each syllable more and more wretched, less and less clear, each one catching more than before. It was for him and it was for her father and it was for the grief of the life she had and the grief of what was missing from her new one.  It wasn’t exactly  _ I love you, _ but it was not, either, simply,  _ thank you _ . It was something different, something in between, something heartfelt and important, but without the fire of time to brazen it into something solid and corporeal. 

 

Either way, for the moment it was enough.

 

It was enough for him to lift her face to his, enough to press his rough lips against her forehead, enough for her to lean into it. Not perfect and not complete, but there, there with him in a moment of her joy and her sorrow, sharing it and letting him keep it.

 

* * *

 

 

Here is the predicament that Emperor Palpatine is in: 

 

One’s instinct is always to send their best man on important job. When the success of the mission is invaluable and the costs of the mission are not assured destruction, the choice is simple. Send your best man, because he will assure success and if the task is not unbelievably dangerous, than you might be lucky enough to not even lose him to the inevitable part that chance and statistic plays in all of it.

 

If this were any other mission, he would send Anakin. He is, undoubtedly, Palpatine’s best man.

 

But he is also his protege, and although he is strong--strong with the force, strong with his merit, strong with his intelligence, nothing he had ever done caused such a ripple in the world as Palpatine had just felt. 

 

Because this is what the truth of the matter was: if the person who had caused the disturbance in the force had done it the way Palpatine was sure they must have, if they had done what he thought they had, they were undoubtedly more powerful than anyone else Palpatine had met in a very, very long time. If they could be found, then Anakin might be his protege no longer. And so it followed that Anakin, not by any means an idiot, would recognize this, and do what the ruthless did when their success was threatened.

 

In any other case he would respect the cutthroat, barred-teeth approach. It was what he would have done. But if Anakin killed whoever had done this, then Palpatine would lose out on a new, more powerful, more promising protege, and Palpatine did not quite like losing out.

 

A solution had to be found, then, of someone who was both witted enough to succeed in finding his new protege, and stupid enough to know not to kill them the moment they did.

 

* * *

 

There was only one thing that Jyn had ever willingly placed around her neck. 

 

The kyber-crystal had always hung there since her mother put it there on Lah’mu. She had always felt it against her chest, moving against the beat of her heart. It always hung heavily, in a way that felt crushing with grief, but still sometimes in another: heavy like a quilt, heavy like a hug when you are small and the person hugging you is older, wiser, and more weighted by the world. 

 

It was armor, and it was memory, and it was faith in something bigger than herself that she admittedly did not always keep or follow. It was something holy to touch when she needed something holy to touch.

 

It was no Medal of Honor, but it was the only mark of something else she’d ever been given. 

 

Jyn watched as Mon Mothma put the medal around Baze’s neck. He bent down graciously so that she could slip it over his head, and then it hung around him like it had grown there, natural and brave on his chest. She pins something onto his chest, too--the dotted sign of rank that she recognized on Cassian’s jacket. 

 

“Lieutenant Baze Malibus,” introduced Mon Mothma, her voice warm.

 

The crowd cheered. Baze turned and bowed his head to them. 

 

Jyn took note that that was how you showed gratitude, because she hadn’t an idea before and hadn’t either thought to ask.  Or, more correctly: had thought to ask, but found herself too embarrassed to mention it. 

 

Mon Mothma moved on to Chirrut, whose slight but steady build took the medal less like it had grown there and more like he was a nice frame for a more impressive painting. Chirrut was like that--although he spoke cockily and self-assured, it was not so much himself that he was assured in. It was always for other things, always himself a tool or a radio antenna for the Force, and although his own strength was undeniable--Jyn was still unsure how he’d managed to fight  _ that _ well without seeing--it didn’t appear to be what he prided himself on, or wore as an identity, like Baze seemed to. 

 

“Lieutenant Chirrut Imwe,” said Mon Mothma. 

 

The crowd cheered. Chirrut turned and bowed his head.

 

Jyn’s heart beat awfully fast. She didn’t know why she was so nervous except that she was--it was such a solid step to take, to take the medal and the rank. She hadn’t decided to be a part of anything in her life before--just been swept from one place to the next by someone else who thought that it was the right thing to do, and when she finally made her own choices, she made them alone, and only for herself. 

 

Jyn was both undeniably grateful for the fact that Cassian stood next to her, his body a steady and natural force. Just the knowledge that he was there was as good as leaning on him, and perhaps the image of him, in a place that he knew so well, might make her look like she belonged, too. 

 

Bodhi was next. 

 

Bodhi looked anything like a hero. Bodhi was small, and scrappy, and his eyes were large and still, still tired. Bodhi had been an Imperial much longer than he had ever been a rebel, and yet: here he was, and here was what he had done. Nothing about him was natural here, either, but somehow it worked. 

 

Somehow, when Mon Mothma placed the medal gently over his neck, Bodhi Rhook looked like he belonged, and looked like he believed it. Where Chirrut and Baze took the medal like decoration, like physical congratulations, Bodhi took it like it completed him, like an absolution, held it in his hands and gazed reverently down at it while Mon Mothma pinned on his rank.

 

“Lieutenant Bodhi Rhook,” said Mon Mothma. 

 

The crowd cheered. Bodhi turned around and bowed his head.

 

Jyn was immeasurably grateful that Cassian was next to her, she just wished that he was next to her left side, and not her right, so that she would be next instead of him. Jyn was one for pulling teeth and ripping bandaids, pushing dislocated joints in on  _...two _ instead of  _...three. _

 

When Mon Mothma put the medal around Cassian’s neck, it was logical. So logical and right and true, in fact, it almost felt redundant to Jyn--who could look at Cassian, even without his decoration, and not  _ know _ how loyal and skillful he was? Who could speak one word to Cassian and not feel in their hearts exactly the type of person that he was made to be? 

 

“Major Cassian Andor,” said Mon Mothma. 

 

The crowd cheered. Cassian turned around and bowed his head.

 

Jyn could breathe fine, when Mon Mothma came to her. Her breathing was steady as she made it be, except although one can control their breathing, the shake of their hands and the beat of their heart was up against fate, against nature. 

 

Jyn looked up at Mon Mothma, her jaw steady, her eyes in a long blink before they opened to look at her. 

 

Mon Mothma’s face was steady and calm, warm and sure, but her eyes held something almost sorrowful, almost apologetic, and it made Jyn’s mouth curve gently into a frown, it piling on top of everything else that made her feel so nervous.

 

Jyn watched as she picked up the medal and hoped, desperately, that when she could feel its golden weight against her chest, it would feel as heavy as the crystal did--that it would feel like home, like faith. That it would calm her wild heart and still her itching hands. 

 

Mon Mothma placed the medal around her neck, and Jyn’s exhale matched the rhythm of the ribbon as it settled down on her collar bones.  

 

_ Welcome home _ , Cassian had said. 

 

This was her home. 

 

It did not immediately sooth her, but it did ground her--it put the earth solidly underneath her feet. It did not feel like a hug from her parents, but it felt like Cassian’s heavy, rough hands gently on her shoulder, and it felt like his heavy gaze finding something inside her worth coming back to. It felt like Bodhi’s smile and his hopeful arm around her elbow, unsure but trying to lead her to a medbay. It felt, not like her old home, but like something that could be a new one.

 

She was so wrapped up in this feeling--new, wonderful, terrifying, that she did not notice the rank pinned to her chest.

 

“Lieutenant Jyn Erso,” introduced Mon Mothma. 

 

The crowd cheered. Jyn did not turn to them, and she did not bow her head.

 

_ What? _

 

Jyn stood there for moments collapsing on to other moments in heartbeats and caught up breaths, and did not spare enough notice to see the others turning their heads, just slightly, in order to look at her. 

 

_ What _ ? Jyn thought. What?

 

The crowd’s cheers hushed. Their voices hushed, into whispers, nervous laughs, sounds of dismay. Why isn’t she turning around, they said, what does this mean? They did not know that Mon Mothma had previously offered Captain, and that is what she accepted. They did not know how deep of a slight it was--to be told, on a mission:  _ we can help find your father _ when really they meant,  _ you can help us kill him _ , and then, when that was forgotten, to be told  _ we valued your help _ and then,  _ but not that much _ .

  
  


It rang ugly.

 

It rang _Empire_ , like: _we value you, Galen Erso, only if you are useful, only if your body gives more than it takes_ _and you don’t dare disagree._

 

It rang like  _ Saw _ , like:  _ I will help you, until it’s inconvenient to me to do so, until something integral about you starts to get in my way. _

 

It rang ugly, and even more ugly because it rang  _ true _ , like an old memory, like an old tradition, like an indisputable fact: Jyn Erso is disposable.

 

But she had ran from that once, and she had fought with grit in her mouth and blood on her fingernails just to say that no one else had a say in who or what she was, and she could do it again.

 

“What?” said Jyn Erso, out loud, something bubbling in her chest familiar and yet stronger than she knew it to be before. 

 

Mon Mothma didn’t say anything. No one said anything. 

 

Jyn clenched her fist, her hands shaking again but this time not at all uncertain--Jyn was well aware what her hands could do. Jyn was well aware of how loud she could shout, and Jyn was perfectly in tune with what her body could manage, as furious and shocked as she was now. 

 

She took one step forward, her boot hitting the ground so that it reverberated back into her chest and she went to raise her hand, she went to open her mouth, she went to say  _ what _ except less with words and more with fists, and then Cassian held her hand and pulled her back.

 

She looked, sharply, over to him.

 

“Turn around,” said Cassian, his voice low, steady, careful.  “Turn around.” 

 

Jyn stared at him for a moment--their eyes locked, and she could see the seriousness but concern in his gaze, even though she met it with nothing but rage from her own. Cassian’s touch against her wrist felt heavy--heavy like someone wiser and more weighted by the world. 

 

And running from this would mean running from Cassian, who had not yet run from her.

 

Trust went both ways, so although every bone in Jyn’s body ground together, and even though she wanted nothing more than to turn around, to ignore Cassian’s voice and go back to her own, the only one that had ever been consistent, she forced her body to turn around, and forced her head to bow, and forced herself, in grinding, horrible, agonizing self-restraint, not to punch Mon Mothma in the face.

 

And she forced herself to stand there as the ceremony finished, and to walk off the stage--Cassian, still close to her, with his hand on her wrist or her arm or her shoulder or her back, in a way that felt like he was comforting her but also like he needed to keep it there just in case she changed her mind about pretending. 

 

She forced herself to do this for the greater good and for their combined integrity and for, mainly, Cassian, and then the minute they were off-stage, the minute they were in any capacity alone with each other, Cassian took his hand off of her shoulder and Jyn took the guard off of her mouth. 

 

“What the hell was that,” she said. Her voice was so low and gravelly, it barely sounded like her own. “What the  _ hell _ was that.” 

 

“Jyn,” began Mon Mothma, her voice once again  _ steady _ and official and like she had the answers and you were terribly wrong for misjudging the situation but as you can see, you are wrong. 

 

“No,” said Jyn. “No, I don’t--I agreed to  _ captain. _ I was promised that, I—” 

 

“You get the rank that—”

 

“I deserve?” said Jyn, outraged, the edges of a righteous laugh laced around the sentence. “I bloody well lead the mission with Cassian and you  _ know that _ and it  _ worked _ and we  _ succeeded _ so don’t tell me I haven’t earned it, just tell me why you--all of the sudden-- _ decided _ that I no longer ought to get what—what did I  _ do _ to lose your trust overnight?” 

 

“Jyn,” said Mon Mothma, again, “You’re getting worked up—”

 

“Why  _ shouldn’t _ I?” said Jyn, furious still. Her hands were shaking and all of the sudden, and she had to press her fingers tightly into her palms. She took step after step closer to Mon Mothma until she was directly in her face. 

 

“You explain to me  _ why _ you lied to me  _ again _ and maybe—maybe, I’ll—” 

 

Something cracked, broke. It made a sound like breaking glass, but Jyn couldn’t identify what it was, or even if it were real, and not just banging in her head along with everything else. 

 

“ _ Jyn—!”  _

 

But this time it wasn’t Mon Mothma speaking, it was Chirrut. 

 

“I did it,” said Chirrut. “I told Mon Mothma not to give you captaincy.” 

 

Jyn turned, slowly, on her heel. Her breath still shook.

 

“What?” she said, breathless.

 

To be betrayed by Mon Mothma was one thing. To be betrayed by someone she assumed was a good man but feared might be somewhat of a paranoid lunatic was another. To be so cut to the core by someone she feared, more deeply, might be correct, was a feeling that blew over her anger like it were dust in a gale of wind. 

 

“I told her not to do it because of what happened,” said Chirrut, walking closer to her as Mon Mothma backed away. 

 

“What  _ happened _ ?”  said Jyn, bitingly, knowing exactly what Chirrut spoke of even though he did not say directly. 

 

“What happened?” said Cassian, who Jyn had forgotten was there in here angry seconds but now, desperately, wished was anywhere else. 

 

“I don’t know what broke,” said Chirrut. “I can’t see it. But something did, didn’t it? While you were yelling?” 

 

Jyn wanted to scream at him for being so vague. She wanted to get out of this situation, where all eyes focused in on her, immediately, so she looked for it just to get it over with--and she found it, seconds later, a broken window. It did not exactly mismatch the already broken ruin of the temple, but Jyn knew when she saw it that it had not been broken before.

 

“There’s a window—” started Cassian, helpfully, but he cut off his own voice, suspicious and uncertain. 

 

Jyn took several steps away.

 

“I didn’t do that,” she said. Her breath caught in her chest--she was going to put this all behind them. She was going to accept the Force’s favor and let it be there, let Chirrut be paranoid, and never tell Cassian what happened. She was going to leave it  _ alone _ and be happy for once, and she wasn’t going to acknowledge Chirrut’s theory or the angry sleeping thing that coiled itself around her heart. 

 

“Jyn,” said Chirrut.

 

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” said Cassian. “Chirrut, what do you mean—” 

 

Jyn threw her hand out, asking Cassian to stop, just--if he wouldn’t go away, somehow sense that this was private, at least don’t make it harder on her by being an active participant. 

 

“Nothing is going on,” said Jyn, but when her palm was flat in the air, it stung. Little, bloody half-moons were carved there, and Jyn realized she’d done that to herself and not even realized it. 

 

She had always been an angry, fearful, fighting person. 

 

She hadn’t wanted to recognize this as anything new, because although it was, it was also natural, it was also familiar. 

 

“No one else broke that window,” said Chirrut. “No one else was near it, were they?” 

 

“I don’t—” 

 

Jyn’s heart pounded like a failing engine, desperate and unsteady and ready to implode, to cease all useful function. Her tongue was heavy in her mouth and she was so  _ afraid-- _ afraid Chirrut was right, afraid that Cassian was going to know, now, what it was, afraid of what she had done and what she could do.

 

She had broken that window. She had put bloody, angry marks on her own flesh because she was blinded enough by her own anger to do it--angry though she had always been, she had never, so purposefully and viscerally, been destructive to herself in it.

 

Her anger was by nature selfish, and it was a part of herself. If she damaged herself in her own fury it would defeat every purpose of it, so although sometimes bloody knuckles were necessary she didn’t punch walls just to feel the sting of it against her own skin, and she hadn’t put marks on her hand like that, and she hadn’t broken a window from a distance of several feet. 

 

“What’s going on?” said Jyn. She turned sharply to Chirrut, her breath shaking against her teeth. “Explain it. What happened? What do you--what’s happening to  _ me? _ ” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buongiorno!! i'm sorry for the longish wait on this chapter, but hopefully the size of it makes up for it!! sorry for the forehead kiss you guys...they are one of my only true and genuine weaknesses in this world okay it was bound to happen. but i hope you guys like it and please tell me what you think!! reading ur comments is my favorite part of posting fic :)
> 
> also, ps: in terms of time line, i'm stretching out the days between rogue one's ending and alderann getting destoyed juuuusstt a tad. it's necessary for the fic so hopefully you guys don't mind me squeezing in a lil extra wiggle room for my universe haha


	6. Chapter 6

Grand Admiral Osvald Teshik had something that the rest of the Empire seemed to have forgotten about, thrown away with their dirty uniforms and burnt with their refuse: compassion. He did not see why war had to lack it, indeed: Osvald prized it. He prized killing people quickly and efficiently, as to minimize the pain in their eyes before death, and he prized smiling at children whose parents he had snubbed out himself.

 

They did not contradict, in his mind. War was a ugly, awful thing, yes, but why did that encourage people to ugly it even more? You could fight for your cause and not lose yourself in it, and that was his aim: to keep as much of himself as he could, even as he fought in this terrible thing for the good of the people. 

 

And people liked him for this too, his easy confidence and easier smile and the way that apologies to the people of the cities they controled seemed so genuine and believable and true.

 

So, if Emperor Palpatine had called for Osvald even two days ago, Osvald would not have doubted why. He was popular and successful, ruthless and recently promoted: any mission that the Emperor wanted done, he had no doubt he would be on the list to be considered. 

 

But the destruction of Alderaan had sat uneasy in Osvald’s stomach. The death of  _ trillions _ of people made his heart sour, and although he wasn’t ashamed of that, he feared that Emperor Palpatine might be. So instead of brave, confident valor, Osvald felt something close to terror, kneeling in front of the Emperor, waiting for his word. 

 

“Grand Admiral Osvald Teshik,” said the Emperor, and Osvald’s heart lept into his throat, a feeling he had not felt since he was a very young child. 

 

“Emperor Palpatine,” said Osvald. He was proud of himself—overly proud, really—that his voice did not shake. 

 

“I would like you to complete a very... _ important _ task. For me,” said the Emperor, his voice low and lewd and beneath a smile. It is not lost on Osvald that personal charm may be one of the few things he surpasses the Emperor in. “As a favor.” 

“Of course,” said Osvald. His breath leaves him in a measured rush—not to fast, not to alert the Emperor to his true feelings, but not quite normal, either, because no one has such great control over themselves except, perhaps, once, the Jedi. “Anything, Emperor.” 

 

“There has been a disturbance in the Force,” said the Emperor. Osvald can hardly believe it—the Jedi have been dead for years, and he was certain that the Emperor would already know if anybody else manipulated the Force, especially to such a great extent. “It is of understandable importance to me to procure the person who caused it.” 

 

“Of course,” said Osvald. “Who I can bring for you?” 

 

The Emperor tilted his head—the odd, cold smile had not left his lips.

 

“Galen Erso’s daughter.” 

* * *

 

 

Cassian can gleam only one direct truth off of listening to Jyn and Chirrut argue-discuss. Through Jyn’s purposeful directness but ashamed vagueness and Chirrut’s unhelpful vagueness and misguided directness, Cassian sifts through their oil and water words to find the exact one point where they both converge: he had been dead, and now he was not.

 

Jyn argued, at first, that it was a favor from the Force that this couldn’t be happening:  _ I’m not in denial _ , she said, although Cassian is uncertain if she even truly believes that, and then, when Chirrut tilts his head in a cutting, precise way, Jyn concedes that:  _ Fine. But it doesn’t mean that it won’t just go away _ ,  _ it doesn’t mean I have to do anything with it,  _ and Cassian doesn’t know enough about the Force to argue with her on that. 

 

Chirrut’s official stance is somewhere in saying through more poetic and respectful words: The Force is weird, but you have it. Jyn’s official stance is The Force  _ is _ weird, and I don’t want to deal with it. The final concurrence seems to be:  _ but you have to _ . Cassian stood catty corner to them, his fingers brushing against his lips, and tries to look composed and thoughtful even though his mind can only reel, over and over again, around one thing.

 

He had been dead. 

 

And it’s the way that they talk about it that makes something in Cassian’s chest go weird. It’s like they don’t recognize that he had been part of that, although maybe that was because he, honestly,  _ hadn’t _ . He hadn’t been there. If he was dead, then he was somewhere else while Jyn wept and clawed him back and Chirrut watched in horror. 

 

And then there’s something to unpack about himself being so important to Jyn that she’d used power she didn’t know she had and teeth she only ever bared for herself to demand him back from a cold, unforgiving universe, so there is that. It’s both comforting and terrifying acknowledge that he would have done the same for her. 

 

He can only half listen to the conversation with that on his heart—although he needs to know what’s going on with Jyn, the miraculous stable beat of his own heart takes precedent over his brain. And then, the conversation ends, abruptly, with Draven rushing, out of breath and red-cheeked, and horror in his eyes:

“Alderaan has been destroyed,” he said.

 

Breath leaves all of their lungs in a collective gasp.

 

“By  _ what— _ ” began Jyn, but it catches in her throat the moment that they all realize: by the Death Star. What else could have done it?

 

“Organa, he—” began Cassian, in horror, but he too cuts himself off because the answer is obvious and horrible. 

 

“The plans,” said Chirrut, his voice a shaking thing—the plans were supposed to be on Alderaan.

 

Mon Mothma excuses herself. Chirrut and Jyn and Cassian all stand in shock. Alderaan had been destroyed, so what does that mean for the medals they’d been given, for the hope in everyone’s eyes, for the lives that had been lost for the plans? What of the people with them in Scarif, what of Galen, what of every effort they had made and bruise they had taken?

 

Did that all mean nothing, now?

 

Cassian can’t stand the thought. He knew that he was not the only one that’s brain faltered at the information, whose heart stumbled at the news, but he was the only one he knew for sure how to control, so he excused himself, and although the look in Jyn’s eyes that caught his just as he walked away made something in his chest ache and something in his fingers twitch to hold hers, he walked away from her, too.

 

It was just too many things, all at once.

 

Alderaan. Failure. The fact that he had been dead, and the fact that Jyn had ensured that he no longer would be. 

 

He tried to work this all out by doing the one thing that always seemed to work out for him regardless of his emotional state. He tried not to remember how comfortable and warm it had felt to work on droids with Jyn at his side, and he tried not to remember that he had feelings for her, for the situation, or for anything.

 

Repairing droids was cold, logical, and followed rules. It was structured, and had no room for fits of emotion, and that’s how you had to deal with things here. You had to make yourself a list of rules and put your heart under armed guard and not ignore that which  makes it fearful but not try to defeat it with something so weak and soft, either. 

 

And yes, he realized he was using techniques and advice handed down to him by elders that were meant to be used in case of capture and torture and in case you survived it, but he  _ felt _ captured. Captured by certain death, and then, miraculously, unexpectedly released, just so that it could tear its claws in to an entire  _ planet _ instead.

 

He twisted to wires together that only work together because he willed them to—when he striped off their coating he nearly striped off the skin on his own thumb. K-2 is going to look like a trash heap when Cassian is done with him, he’s well aware of that, but at least it will be K-2 again, and he’ll have someone to present him with the cold and cruel facts of his miserable life in a friendly automated tone. And if he complains about his new body, then—well. He can just try not to get shot at, next time.

 

He felt betrayed, he thought, when he thought through it more and uncovered new feelings eternally like the pages of a long, tedious book. Betrayed by Jyn, who didn’t tell him, betrayed by his heart for being angry at someone who had needed him so much she faced the very fabric that the world knit and undid its stitches to bring him back, betrayed by his body for not knowing it had been  _ dead _ and insisting on beating on without caution, without memory.

 

Because Cassian had seen a lot of people die. It was in tandem to his work, to the cause—people die for it so that people can live for it. People run a lap in a tag-team marathon they will never see finished, just so that  _ someone _ can. Just the fact  that someone might be able to set a future worth living for, that makes it worth dying for. 

And Cassian had always been prepared to die—he had a thirty-two percent chance, according to K-2, of even surviving to his twenty-second mission. He had a pill in a pocket that would kill him as instantly as possible, he had people that he met with where one slip of the tongue would mean a slip of a trigger, too.

 

Death had no so much been something to fear, but something to bank on, and now he felt that he’d defaulted the loan.

 

Maybe that was it, he thought. He had to screw K-2’s future foot on with gusto because the threads had long since rusted and decayed, and with each labored twist he found a new explanation in himself for why he found this so hard to grapple with: how can someone with so much blood on his hands ever have someone hold them tightly enough to pull him back from the very thing he’d become almost  _ used _ to causing? 

 

Triggers pulled on blasters by his own fingers still rung in his head like an echoing, warped symphony, and yet here he stood still breathing. He swore he could almost hear the screams on Alderaan from this late and this far away: it was a new brand of survivor’s guilt combined also with the less sympathetic guilt that came with being the one who  _ ensured _ his survival, at the cost of others, and it one that was particularly trapping and awkward to deal with. 

 

Guilt lived in his heart like it was the very thing that propelled it to beat. He started to attach K-2’s head—the last piece of the puzzle, already pre-loaded with K-2 on it—and tried not to let his fingers slip from the odd sort of self-obsessed fury that bubbled in his chest.

 

Who was he to be alive? But also, who was he to be  _ angry _ at being alive, when so many didn’t have that chance? Who was he to have a Medal of Honor and a death count in the hundreds? 

 

It was a path that was useless to go down and yet his brain took him down it every time he felt like this. He did what Draven suggested, one time, when he faltered before accepting a mission: don’t think about it. There are more important things in this world than your feelings, Captain, so he shoved those down a different route in his brain and tried to chose a more productive one, even though he teeth were still grinding together and his fingers still ached with the desire to curl them into fists.

 

He screwed the last part of the head in with his fingers still tense—alright, K-2. Time to wake up. 

 

He waited with his breath short and his head dizzy and his heart pounding— _ time to wake up _ .

 

He could not think of a moment that he needed K-2 to be spouting useless, oddly comforting facts about the likelihood of his own death more.

 

“Come on, Kay,” said Cassian. 

 

He blinked at the cobbled-together droid and watched it begin to do absolutely nothing. No light lit up, no reboot-beep began, to twitch even of his busted and carefully repaired fingers began to tap on the cool ground. All that Cassian could hear was the blood in his ears rush like the ocean, rush like the hum of a ship’s engine going into overdrive, and outside of that— _ nothing _ . Nothing, and—

 

Nothing, nothing nothing. 

 

“ _ Kay, _ ” said Cassian, and this time his voice was torn out of his throat like a growl, like a cry, because it  _ had not worked _ and Cassian had been so sure that it was going to work, and he needed someone like a friend and he didn’t know how to face Jyn yet and he was so  _ furious _ at himself for not being able to make it work and so furious at the pieces of metal for not working and furious at the world for giving back his life but not K-2’s, and for his own breath still in his lungs, but not in the soldiers that had been with them on Scarif, and not in all of the thousands of souls that had been on Alderann and not in the woman he’d let die when he was twelve because all he could do was stand, shocked, with blood on his cheek and his eyes hollow and wide, not in the first person that he’d ever seen down the end of a blaster and never stopped seeing after that, and—

 

Fury. Blinding, unending, cataclysmic  _ anger _ that wrapped itself around his heart and  _ drove _ his boot down into the ground and drove his fist to aim somewhere at the droid who refused to be K-2’s head and—

 

“Cassian.”

 

A hand on his arm, weighted and careful. A heartbeat and a breath that was steady if scared, something to match his own to, a reason to let his arm fall slowly and his heartbeat fall with it.

 

Jyn took his hand in her own and pulled him to the ground, sitting cross legged and defeated and bedraggled, and leaning almost half of his entire weight on her. She didn’t rub his hand, or his back, or sweep the hair from his face like someone more talented at the art of comfort might have done, but she held his hand and supported his weight and let him breathe. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what happened. And I’m sorry about Alderaan, and the mission, and K-2, and everything.” 

 

Cassian doesn’t look at her for a long, long moment.

 

Hope had seemed lost, before, but Jyn was still breathing next to him and that was hope of some description, wasn’t it? Friendship was a sort of hope—a sort of assurance that said, something, at least, is worth getting up in the morning for. Love was a sort of hope—a sort of promise that, yes, alright, maybe wouldn’t last forever but maybe, could get you through a week.

 

Something worth living for among the causes that gave him something to die for.

 

Cassian nodded. He swallowed, and nodded, and slowly worked on supporting himself again, the anger having rushed out of his heart and left nothing behind. 

 

“Mon Mothma says she doesn’t think they lost the plans,” said Jyn. “She says that Princess Leia was smarter than that, and—well, at least we know she’s wasn’t on Alderaan. we should still hold out hope for that to work out in our favor, so.” 

 

“Alright,” said Cassian.

 

“And—if it helps, I had no idea—I didn’t  _ know _ I was using the Force at the time, Cassian,” said Jyn. “It just kind of happened.” 

 

Cassian tilted his head slightly, caught between the still-tumultuous feelings that he gets trapped in when reminded of his death, and the humor in Jyn’s voice at how random the occurrence had truly been.

 

“And—” said Jyn. “I—and—” 

 

She sighed, frustrated by her tongue, and then took her hand off of his and moved it to his cheek, her fingers catching underneath his chin and pulling his face close to hers.

 

“I did it because I love you,” said Jyn, and Cassian is somewhat startled to notice how wet her eyes looked, and how genuinely they shone, and how her furrowed brow looked both concerned for him and terrified for herself. “I don’t know—how much. I don’t mean to—make promises. Especially with everything, now, but I can’t—I  _ would not _ let you die, not without knowing, not without—” 

 

But the words are painful and awkward for her to try and make tumble unnaturally out of her own lips, and Cassian understands enough—enough of the awkward, uncertain, new and dangerous feeling of  _ please please please _ and  _ mine mine mine _ and the dread and the hope and the beauty and the agony of it all at once: not all of something, but a part enough of something that in this world where a heartbeat is more fragile than paper, where you would just as soon be killed than be embraced, it is almost, miraculously, enough.

 

Just as Jyn’s fingers and hope began to fall from him altogether, Cassian reached up to her face and pulled it close to his and pressed his lips against hers and let them crash: desperately grateful, desperately afraid, desperately needing each other just for a moment of peace in their hearts.

 

Jyn put her hand behind Cassian’s head, fingers gentle against his hair. Cassian kept his, tender but stable and sure, against her chin and her neck, not something to hold her there but something to lean against if she chose to stay.

 

For a moment, they broke, and looked at each other, not giddy like school children and not as certain as if they had had each other forever, but grateful for what they now had together. Jyn pulled him back in, and then— 

 

“Am I interrupting something?” said K-2. His voice was not  _ too _ different, but it was somewhat scrambled, like he was speaking through a centuries-old microphone. “And—what’s happened to me? And where in the  _ galaxy  _ did  _ she _ come from?” 

* * *

“You don’t have to train me in it,” said Jyn. “You just have to teach me how to— _ not _ use it.” 

 

Chirrut rubbed his lip with his thumb, wearily. He had not ever studied to train someone in the Force, and he had, frankly, no confident idea that he could do it. He supposed on one hand that he had done weirder and more random things just by sheer conviction, knowing that he himself wasn’t force-sensitive like Jyn was, and maybe with her help they might be able to manage something, but still: it felt like a promise, and Chirrut took promises very seriously. 

 

Or rather: Chirrut did not make promises. Chirrut made  _ oaths _ , as solemn and careful as the oath he had taken to be a Guardian of the Whills. Chirrut made dozens of verbal and nonverbal oaths over the course of his life—to the Guardians, to the people of Jedha, to Baze, and most recently to all of them—oaths for protection and care, unspoken but not uncertain. 

 

“Why don’t you want to use it?” 

 

Chirrut was stalling. He’s good at stalling, though—he’s good at people, so it comes off naturally. He wants to help Jyn, but he’s not sure he  _ can _ , and an oath broken because you made it with your heart without asking your head first was a foolish, reckless mistake. 

 

His sight had been taken from him when he was too young to remember it being any different—Chirrut was aware the horrible assortment of things that the universe could take from him, but it could not take his word. Oh, it could take the tongue that spoke it; or it could take the mind that made it, but it could not take the meaning of it.

 

Jyn swallowed. Chirrut could not see her face, but he can hear the rustle of the fabric on her jacket, and he can feel the nervous, guarded tension even from this far away. 

 

“You know why,” she said, sharply. Chirrut might have rolled his eyes at both the predictability of Jyn’s mood change and the pointlessness of it: anger was a seemingly good way for her to channel her emotions, or at least, it was an easy one, but it was hardly productive. It was a side-tour that looked like a shortcut, and would mostly leave her exhausted, tired enough to be at the point that using her dwindling remaining energy to hide the emotions she wanted to hide no longer looked more appealing than to just give up entirely. 

 

Guardians of the Whills were taught much better ways to route emotion and pain, and he puts that solidly in the category of:  _ do agree to try and help train Jyn, _ because it certainly could not hurt her. 

 

Chirrut held out his free hand—his other, always on his staff—and raised an eyebrow at her.

 

“Enlighten me,” he said. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what you need—” 

 

“You’re the one who  _ told me  _ I needed to deal with it!” said Jyn, channeling her vulnerable fear into something more familiar. “Don’t tell me that you don’t know—”

 

“And I  _ won’t _ help you if you’re disrespectful,” said Chirrut. His first oath, his greatest, the one he made to the Force, disavowed violence and revenge and self-interest, but it also made it known: you can’t help people if you let them destroy you, too, so although Chirrut was born with a soft heart and hands, he learned to roughen them and guard them enough to still be able to use them when he needed to. 

 

“Sorry,” said Jyn, grinding it out in a way that sounded almost painful. 

 

Chirrut waited. Jyn was best cracked by silence and hopeful expectation, and just a little bit of belief in her that she might actually choose to do the right thing. 

 

“I’m afraid,” she said. “I don’t want to use something I know I can turn into something worse, because I—because I don’t trust myself that I wouldn’t. I just want to—I just need  _ help _ to—make it so I can’t do that.”

 

“You can’t shut the Force off,” said Chirrut. “It’s not a faucet.” 

 

“I don’t want to shut it off,” said Jyn. “I want to shut it  _ out _ .” 

 

Chirrut didn’t know if you could do that. Anybody who had the Force seemed to want to use it, or at least, those who did not want to, if they had before Jyn existed, learned to do so in private, and did not write their trials down. 

 

And then something in Jyn’s voice broke, something in her breath caught.

 

“ _ Please _ ,” she said, she begged.

 

And Baze, who had been silent before—he usually traveled behind Chirrut, quiet and non-commenting until they were in private, put his his hand on Chirrut’s shoulder and said his name: not a warning, just a very, firm suggestion, and a belief in Chirrut that he would choose to do the right thing. 

 

He nodded. Not resigned, just cautious, just careful. To make an oath to Jyn was to assure yourself destruction if you willfully broke it, and although Chirrut had never willfully broken an oath in his life, knowing what Jyn was capable of—what she was really, truly, Force and all,  _ capable of,  _ put a certain edge on swearing to her his help. 

 

“Jyn,” he said. He put his hand carefully on her arm, and she did not flinch away. “I don’t know if I know what’s best for you. But I swear to you, I will help you find it.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hola!!! welcome to one with me chapter six: RETURN OF THE SALTBOT. look forward to chapter seven: REVENGE OF THE SALTBOT. y'all. i'm so excited for k-2 to finally show up in this fic. he's so much fun, he's like jyn and cassian's angry step son. a quick note about good ol osvald up there: he's from the eu and i'm hoping you all know nothing about him so i can use him to my liking. if you do know stuff about him, and i'm mangling him, i am extremely apologetic. my bad plot needs what my bad plot needs. also, i hope i did the kiss justice!!! i am a single pringle and have never actually kissed anybody so it's all guesswork lmao. but i hope you liked this chapter, please tell me what you think!! you get the chapters all the sooner if i am motivated to write them for you haha


	7. Outline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we all know i'm never gunna update this fic for real, so i thought i'd let anyone who was interested read the outline to what could have happened if i wasn't so indescribably, inexcusably lazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm pretty sure I warned everyone a year ago I never finish fics. This is true. I'm a full-time student with a nearly full-time job and something of a social life, but tbh, that's not even why I don't finish fics. I'm lazy, that's the short and long of it, and I get frustrated with how much work it takes to write something that's so much more fun to just imagine. But, on a few months past the year anniversary of this fic, I thought I'd let anyone who still even vaguely remembers what this fic was about see the outline I had written when I originally wrote the au. Ignore my fangirling and vagueness and references to things in my life, and have fun imagining what I intensly imagined for like,..two months straight. 
> 
> EXPLAINING SOMETHINGS: 
> 
> 1\. I'm a bad writer. I'm bad at plots. Anywhere where I was like "plot, yaddayadda" is not referring to some separate outline of the plot. I just literally was going to make stuff up, on the spot, and I'm sure it would have and has showed. 
> 
> 2\. I've never seen Star Wars besides the new movies. Anything I get wrong is because of that, and anything I got right was because of Tabitha, my low-key editor who was a bank of Star Wars knowledge. God Bless. 
> 
> 3\. I was having fun when I wrote this tbh
> 
> 4\. My grammar and spelling is bad becuase my grammar and spelling...is bad. Anything that looks legible is becuase of spellcheck. 
> 
> 5\. Thanks so much to anyone who supported this fic while I was writing it. The reviews meant so so much to me and I really appreciate every single one. I'm sorry I couldn't never truly delivered a good long fic, but it's just not in my bones to do so. Thanks so much again.

JYN: struggling with the dark side and now being able to have the force as well as being a part of something other than herself. isn’t very allured to having the light side of the force and is terrified  of her potential to go dark, so would rather not have it at all

 

CASSIAN: happy to be alive, sort of. also miserable to be alive. wouldn’t have  _ minded _ the force, but Does Not Want To Deal With This Shit re: the darkside, also ofc resents the fact that now he has to  _ share _ his life and can’t be Selfless bc if he dies/hurts Jyn dies/hurts, and also the fact that he can’t even control his own life since diego mentioned control being important to him, probably spends a lot of time bitterly working on robots, since literally quote diego they’re “the only thing he can control” 

 

BODHI: he’s just happy to be here, with his friends. probably actually working in the war a little since he’s a pilot and not maimed

 

SPACE UNCLES: they’re .....there they’re one unit because they were in the film maybe they help more with strategy than combat??? like with the ~*~*~council~*~*~ or whatever, worried about jyn and cassian, should probably learn their names before i write it,

 

K-2: rebuilt & malfunctioning, but helpful and rood 

 

  * Cassian Dies



 

    * because of the plans, of various injuries, dies on a space ride back because something happened and it delayed the death star 
      * option b) everything was okay, but shrapnel/stray blast gets him just as they get on the ship
    * jyn weeps over his body and tries to hold on to him, is so desperate not to lose him, wishes she’d go instead of him, Drama Drama
    * bc of crystal? or force sensitive
    * fuck it
    * it happens because of _space stuff_



 

  * They Sleep, Unaware



 

    * they are sleepy/nearly dead and Need to Rest
    * bodhi tells the uncles who weren’t there because? too hard too many characters
    * whispers about what happens
    * Uncle Blind is v alarmed
    * everyone is afraid of what they will be when they wake



 

  * Nightmares, Asleep _And_ Awake



 

    * cassian has a bad dream of jyn dying hahahaha _hahaha_ ** _ha_**
    * wakes up from dream because pain, pain turns out to be because Jyn is in pain several floors/rooms/whatever away 
    * they don’t realize, tho? 
    * or cassian doesn’t



 

      * _jyn_ does, now maybe thru feeling one of his hurts
      * cassian does not
      * he’s just happy to be alive



 

  * __for now__



 

      * he probably doens’t know what she did at this point, probably knows she saved him but doesn’t know it was with the force or they share it. so he’s probably just happy and greatful and jyn’s like :) yep :) nothing weird happened there :) nope no dark side here :) please don’t ask anybody who was actually there :) 



  
  


  * Medals and Healing and also, Anger



 

    * cassian starts rebuilding k2



 

    * they get awards for their bravery
    * they all get ranks and stuff and jyn gets a substantially lower one and gets indignant/angry about it, but ~*~*~more angry than usual~*~*~
    * maybe during a conversation with bodhi just, for fun,
    * cassian is confused from a distance
    * Jyn storms out 
    * jyn can't kick the box, or punch the wall, because if she does Cassian will feel it. 
    * and doubly confused why space uncle is going to talk to her instead of him?? weird, but okay?



 

  * Space Uncles Confront Jyn, Something Bad-ish Happens



 

    * she’s calm at first but doesn’t think it’s that bad
    * when space uncle assures her nonono, _this can be very bad_ , she gets scared
    * when he’s like “you need to tell cassian” she is _even more scared_
    * when “he might suffer from this now too” she is both scared and furious that he has to suffer at all
    * so....scared/anger+darkside=bad shit
      * how bad is the shit? bad enough for jyn to run away maybe ??? sure yes ok



 

  * Jyn Runs Away, To _Be Alon_ e, Cassian Finds Her
    * he’s completely confused
    * maybe he thinks it’s bc of her dad/grief things are are goin weird in her emotional health
    * which
    * yes, cassian
    * but also...oh, it is so much worse
    * emotional constipation yadayada 
    * breakthrough explanation of what happen
    * cassian denies it
    * but then
    * cassian freaks out



 

  * Cassian Freaks Out



 

    * what it says on the tin, gentlemen
      * how does cassian freak out? we don’t know
      * but he does
      * aggressively build robots???



 

CHOICE: 

 

  1. go the easy predictable route and have him kidnapped as he freaks out and is mad at her?
  2. almost as predictable, but _slightly_ longer, have him come back, be mad at her, and _then_ get captured?
  3. longest option. he comes back, is furious, they reconcile with eachother, and _then_ he is captured



 

i think b can’t be too ambitious or I Will Die

 

  * Anger, Betrayal, Disgrace, Plain as the Scar on your Face



 

    * cassian is ofc Furious
    * but he can’t be too furious, because dark side
    * jyn is upset cassian is furious
    * but can’t be too upset, because dark side
    * scene of them Having Emotions at each other, but not actually having them because, _dark side_
      * if i were talented bodhi would have an actual side plot but since i’m not he’s just gunna be here, back from a vague mission for the resistance, upset bc he doesn’t want to be a child of divorce, maybe some fun dialogue between him and a malfunctioning k2 
    * stretch for as long as possible with idk, stuff before
  * ARGUMENT, ESCAPE
    * they argue
    * ya that’s all i got 
    * they argue
    * cassian gets mad and frustrated, maybe afte rsomething goes wrong or he’s just angry in general, storms out, goes to get a packed bag and runs after Bodhi who is Just Trying To Live His New Life
    * hijacks his mission
    * “i just think i would have noticed if u were supposed to be here cassian”
    * “let”
    * “me on”
    * “this”
    * “ship”
    * “rn”
    * “...”
    * “please” 



  
  
  


  * THE DISAPPEARANCE OF CASSIAN ANDOR



 

    * dun dun DUHH
    * this is where plot needs to happen, boo
    * steal the scene from rhy 
    * bodhi is on a plain while cassian is doing espionage shit or something and gets found out and discovered to be one of the main ppl invovled in the death star plans, gets captured, easiest way to do this is by having him call bodhi and tell him to leave him here because they know he’s on planet too and have the struggle/etc. through bodhi’s ears bc if bohdi doesn’t know what’s going on you don’t have to figure _out_ what’s going on u can just! be vague! be! vague! 



 

  * CONTINUED DISAPPEARANCE, WHILE TRYING TO RESCUE



 

      * jyn is preparing to go rogue again to go rescue him, and then gets a summons from fuck what’s her name monmouth whatever
      * mothman
      * rad pixie cut leader
      * anyway 
      * she’s like “you can’t stop me i’m going after him i don’t care what you say”
      * and she’s like “ya ....i kno ....we’re gunna help you”
      * “...” 
      * bodhi’s like “dude...they’re _scared of you_ ” 
      * they’re scared of w _hat she’ll do for cassian_ ahahahahah holy _shit_ i love this 



 

  * __how_ does she rescue him? we just don’t know_



 

    * plot.
    * ploooooot



 

    * PLOT...MINE MORTAL ENEMY 
    * maybe jyn tries to use the force to find him but it doesn’t work except for small images or something, so they have to work with that TABITHA SAYS THIS IS TOTALLY POSSIBLE AYYYYY



 

  * RESCUE
    * rescue
    * oh god
    * i dont want to have to write this
    * they do it that’s all i got 



 

  * End???
    * through trying to find cassian, jyn gets a handle on the darkside 
    * they Work Through Their Shit
    * maybe something in the torture makes him like...idk remember how much he loves her or some shit 
    * jyn wants nothing more to do with the force, ever
    * cassian wants to be a jedi tho
    * so he’s gunna train maybe
    * or at least he’ll try to
    * who knows
    * who k  n o w s



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6\. Rereading this there are so many scenes that I wanted to write that I think would have been genuinely fun and might have even been good. If anyone has a specific scene they would have also liked to read, drop me a line! I might be tempted to write it if there's interest in it, becuase really tempting scenes got lost just becuase I never made it to them in the long fic format. No promises, tho. Thanks again to anyone who bothered to read this! It means a lot.


End file.
